


Feast of the Dead

by radiomuse (FauxFidele)



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abigail is alive, Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Walking Dead Fusion, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal in TWD universe, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal/TWD AU, Hannigram - Freeform, Jealous Hannibal, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Murder, Murder family references, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Terminus, Season 1 Hannibal and Will, Slow Burn, Vague references to animal death, Will and Hannibal smoking, implied Hannigram, slow burn hannigram, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FauxFidele/pseuds/radiomuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before the catastrophic Wildfire epidemic is declared a global emergency, psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal Lecter and F.B.I. profiler Will Graham visit a recovering patient, Abigail Hobbs, at John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. As patients in the hospital begin to show signs of the infection, Hannibal convinces Will and their colleague, Dr. Alana Bloom, to take Abigail and evacuate the city, heading to an undisclosed, safe location outside of Atlanta.</p><p>Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a drabble from [here.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yev6oKJSKyvzOKqWI7mI_Fg4eH7IoDChZCo47Y7HJRs/edit?pref=2&pli=1)  
> #296: Hannibal is really prepared for a zombie apocalypse 
> 
> I wanted to mix The Walking Dead/Hannibal universes but not necessarily with the main characters from TWD. This takes place the day before the disease is confirmed an epidemic, about 60 days before Rick wakes up and The Walking Dead (TV show) begins. The mythos will crossover, and as Hannibal, Will, and Abigail discover this new universe, they will begin to encounter familiar (mostly side) characters from the series.
> 
> My friends and I have been working on the mythology of both shows, but if you notice discrepancies feel free to discuss, I love the feedback. Thank you all, lovely humans.

**DAY BEFORE OUTBREAK**  
_**Baltimore**_

 

The steady sound of a heart monitor echoed across the hospital room, belligerent in its redundant staccato.  
  
_Beep. Beep. Beep._  
  
Will had been sitting steadfast by the girl’s bedside for hours it seemed, though he kept losing track of the time. Untamed waves of dark curls fell over his heavy eyes, as he leaned forward in his chair, occasionally reaching out to pat her hand. He looked down at his wrist. _2:35 p.m._  
  
On her opposite side, a slightly older gentleman – much tidier in appearance – paced around the periphery, making laps out of a sitting chair and end table. His eyes were buried into an iPad, glued to the screen, his lips ghosting words as he read to himself. A few random strands of straw-like hair fell across his forehead as he read, breaking away from the otherwise perfectly-gelled coif. He looked up every few minutes, studying the auburn-haired girl for signs of movement.  
  
Her bandages were fresh, covering the freckled skin on her neck where just days ago, her own father, Garret Jacob Hobbs, had cut her throat open.  
   
Will was grateful at least to see her resting peacefully. He struggled lately with recurring flashbacks of their first meeting; Abigail, eyes wide and terrified, blood erupting from her throat as her father’s blade slid across her skin. Will ran to her and tried contain it, pressing his trembling hands against the wound, helpless as she choked and coughed while gasping for breath.  
   
That is ... all after he shot Garret Jacob Hobbs. Ten times in the chest. _Just to be sure_ , he had told himself.

Will winced. _I had to be sure_ ...

Thankfully Dr. Lecter had been alongside Will to take over for him, applying pressure to the girl's gaping, bleeding throat until the ambulance arrived. Now both men stayed by her side in the hospital room, connected by this disturbing trauma.  
  
“She’s not your responsibility, Will,” Hannibal said quietly, still looking down to his device as if reading.  
  
“It feels like she is,” he said, his voice low and grim. “I made her an orphan.”  
  
“Her father made her an orphan when he decided to murder Abigail's mother,” Hannibal said. He rested his tablet on the pedestal, leaning over her bed to trace a gentle hand against her ivory forehead. “And for the record ... she’s nineteen, Will, she’s hardly an orphaned child.”  
  
“She’s got no one, though, nowhere to go,” Will said. He let out a sigh, his tired eyes looking down to the floor.  
  
“She is alive because you _saved_ her, Will,” he said, arching his brow as if to make a point. “And being alive is a _privilege_ that you have afforded her.” Hannibal offered an encouraging smile.  
  
Will nodded, an ambivalent concession, and drifted away in his thoughts.  
  
From the corner of his eye, Will noticed her move just slightly. Hannibal observed the slight flutter in her lashes as well, and both men leaned away, giving her space, but studied her expectantly. Her weighted eyelids opened and closed quickly, revealing disoriented blue eyes that searched nervously around the room, seeking some kind of familiarity.  
  
“Abigail?” Will asked gently, allowing his fingers to rest on her hand with guarded hesitation. “Can you hear me?”  
  
As her eyes began to focus, Abigail forced a smile at him weakly. "I'm Will Graham," he said as he gestured toward himself, and then directed it to the doctor. "And this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

She nodded. Her eyes shifted sudden, forehead crinkling as if deliberating a thought, and she cleared her throat, touching it gently with her fingers.  
  
"I know," she mustered. "I could hear you a little bit," she said, words strained and thin, like wisps of air. “My parents are dead... aren't they?” Will and Hannibal exchanged uneasy glances.  
  
“Yes, Abigail,” Hannibal said plainly. Will shot him an overly apprehensive glance. “I assure you that we'll answer your questions … eventually. You mustn’t push yourself just yet,” he added with a gentle smile, motioning to his own throat. She nodded hesitantly.  
  
Hannibal attempted to flag down a nurse, but they had been conspicuously preoccupied all afternoon, likely due to an outbreak of the super-flu they'd been reading about on the news. No one answered the call button, and when he tried to hail over a nurse, she regretfully denied his request, citing new precautionary measures that had been enacted for the afternoon.  
  
“Top priority patients first, I’m so sorry, sir,” she said hastily. Most of the staff members were briskly pacing around the halls, darting in and out of rooms, and exchanging disconcerted glances with one another.  
  
Hannibal took it upon himself to give Abigail a brief examination of her wounds, never missing the opportunity to remind Will that he had been a surgeon, and found that he was satisfied with her healing progress. Will noticed, however, that the older gentleman had resumed walking laps around their sitting area, pacing and checking his phone as soon as he deemed Abigail stable.  
   
“Any updates?” Will asked Hannibal, eyes averting to the floor, too nervous to look at him. Abigail eyed them both suspiciously, looking from one to the other.

Hannibal swallowed hard, but shook his head. "Not yet," he said, but his heavy expression made Will worry that he was simply withholding whatever information he'd learned, most likely reluctant to share in front of the newly awakened patient.  
  
Their coded speaking made her feel even more uncomfortable. “So, when can I leave?” Abigail asked, struggling with each word. She widened her eyes, casting hopeful glances to both Hannibal and Will, who in turn looked at each other.  
  
A throat cleared behind them. “You should be resting, Abigail,” said the soft-spoken voice from the door. Will turned to see Dr. Bloom stepping into the room, her wavy, dark hair tumbling off her shoulders as she carried a cup of coffee in each hand.  
  
She handed one cup to Hannibal, who thanked her with a nod.  
  
“Ah, you’re a life-saver, Alana,” Will enthused, grinning a pearly-white smile, as he took the cup from her.  
  
“Oh, please,” she said, scoffing and rolling her crystal-clear blue eyes, allowing a smile to turn one side of her mouth up at the corner. Will let his smile linger as she tucked a ringlet of hair behind her ears, pink flushing into her otherwise pale cheeks.  
  
“I will say," Alana mused, looking hesitantly toward the door, "it was like pulling teeth to get coffee around here." 

Will gave her a knowing look. "Told you," he said.

“Well, it might be a little old, maybe from this morning … but it will do the job,” she said, eyes meeting Will’s with an apologetic smile.  
  
“It’s perfect,” he reassured softly, taking a sip and enjoying it as if it was the best cup of coffee he'd ever tasted.  
   
Alana shrugged, and her expression turned heavy with unspoken words. “Jack called again. Insists that Abigail can’t leave until she’s been formally questioned.” She made a regretful face, anticipating Will’s reaction.  
   
“Well, _of course_ he did,” Will said, rolling his eyes and spitting out a dramatic scoff. He paused for a moment, his expression softening.

“I know you’re just doing your job, Alana.” He looked frustrated, but offered her a forgiving shrug.  
   
She nodded with a grateful smile. “I’ll be brief,” she promised.  
   
Hannibal raised a skeptical eyebrow at Will, as if unconvinced. “Alana, it’s silly for Abigail to waste her strength on these unnecessary formalities, don’t think you think?” the psychiatrist asked, turning to face Dr. Bloom. "She clearly poses no threat to the F.B.I."   
   
She smiled politely. “Just _doing my job_ , Hannibal,” she quipped, reiterating Will's words.  
  
Suddenly an alert rang out from the monitor on the opposite end of the room, attached to a sleeping male patient. They had ignored him all afternoon, assuming he had been quietly resting off a form of the super virus. Abigail noticed a limp hand dangling from the side of the bed, revealing a small tattoo – a tiny flock of birds cascading from his wrist and extending up his lower arm. Two nurses ran into the room with a fresh crash cart, clumsily fumbling the tools as they worked to resuscitate the victim.  
  
The repetitious pings projecting from the monitor turned one long, monotone droll that reverberated off the walls of the interior. Just as the nurse opened her mouth to speak, the patient’s arms jerked suddenly – and furiously – knocking over the cart and sending supplies crashing into the tile floors.  
  
Will jumped – his coffee cup dropping to the ground, spilling across the tile as he sprung to Abigail’s bedside, placing his body like a protective barrier between her and the scene taking place on the opposite end of the room. His effort proved futile, as Will couldn’t shield her eyes from the onset of vomiting and seizing that erupted from the body splayed across the adjacent hospital bed. Abigail watched on, eyes wide with terror, as crimson blood spewed from the patient, splattering across the nurse attempting to stabilize him.  
  
Finally the other nurse caught a glimpse of Abigail’s gaping, slack-jawed stare and swung the curtain closed.  
  
“W … what the hell,” Abigail stuttered, as the remaining color in her face drained completely.  
  
Will placed his arm around her shoulder and gave it a comforting, almost patronizing squeeze. He looked nervously to Alana and then to Hannibal, who each seemed to share the same apprehension. Abigail rolled her eyes, becoming irritated with the delicate way they talked around her, as if they were all walking on feather-light shards of glass.  
  
“A lot of people are sick,” Will answered, uneasy in his words, eyes shifting to Hannibal.

Abigail looked to Will with huge eyes. "Well, _no shit_ ," she said slowly, and sharply, as Hannibal raised an eyebrow at her sardonic quip.  
  
Hannibal picked up his items from the table. “We should leave,” he said, his mouth drawn into a hard line. "It is no longer safe here for Abigail. Or any of us, for that matter."  
  
"I ... I dunno," Will said, eyes widening, as he observed the older man's sudden and hastened efforts to gather his belongings. “It just seems … rash. We can't just _take_ her, Hannibal."

Abigail was still rather drowsy, but with what strength she could muster, she used to glare at the audience surrounding her. "Do I get a say in this?" she piped up raspily. Hannibal and Alana turned and narrow their eyes at her. Will at least had the decency to look apologetic. "Okay, _no_ , I guess," she said, answering her own question.  
  
“You're not strong enough, Abigail,” Alana contended, voice shaking and brows creased in uncertainty as she looked from Abigail to Hannibal. “They say it’s just a flu strain–”  
   
“A flu that has rendered the _entire city of Paris_ into quarantine,” Hannibal snapped impatiently, frustrated with the lack of understanding he was receiving from his colleagues. "The doctor I have been communicating with has contracted it."  Hannibal spoke calmly, but his eyes looked to Will with absolute seriousness. "He revealed this in our last correspondence. Also that London was already in the midst of a blackout and they feared Paris was the next to fall into the dark." He averted his eyes, looking to the floor. "It's widespread in New York, as well, but they have not released the information to the public as of yet."

Will shook his head, brows knitted. Alana looked to Hannibal intensely, contemplating the information. "We are in grave danger if we stay here," Hannibal warned, grimly lifting his eyes to meet Will's.  
  
A new series of shrill beeps began to echo through the hallways, from what sounded like a neighboring room. They looked to each other, expressions weighted with dread, as a chorus of shuffling footsteps and voices began bustling outside the door.

Then another.  
   
“ _Get these patients on lockdown_!” a voice from the outside hallway shouted frantically.  
  
_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep_.

The frequencies began blending into one another, until no distinction of their origin could be determined.  
  
“Will, get Abigail’s personal items,” Hannibal ordered sternly, “Alana – get her dressed.”  
   
It was not a request, and although she opened her mouth to protest, Alana stopped herself; she looked to the hallway and witnessed the busied staff, practically pushing each other out of the way as they moved, the weight of understanding finally sinking in. Finally she relented, nodding, and accepted the wad of clothes from Will.  
  
As Alana assisted Abigail, gently coaxing one limb after another to lift and slide securely into her fresh attire, Hannibal scurried around the room, opening drawers and cabinets and shoving various items into a bag. He shoved an empty bag into Will’s chest.  
  
“Take what looks useful,” Hannibal instructed, returning his focus to his own foraging.  
  
He stood without moving for a moment, lack of comprehension written across his face, until Hannibal shoved him, pushing Will toward the door. “Right …” Will disparaged to himself, “I’m sure no one will notice that I’m just rifling through medical supplies …” his voice trailed off as he stepped into the doorway, peering down the hallway, suddenly more aware of the panicked voices encircling him.

" _God dammit_ ..." he complained, shaking his head with a long exhale.  
  
As soon as he walked into the hall, arms and bodies pushed into him, knocking him off balance, as he tumbled into a medical cart. Supplies clamored against the floor almost inaudibly amidst the commotion, as raised voices competed against the ceaseless repetition of the warning sounds.  
  
Will scrambled to grab the littered supplies from the ground and stuffed them into his bag, quickly springing to his feet, careful to avoid the sea of chaotic limbs and voices. He darted in and out of rooms, scouring through cabinets and carts, pillaging until his bag (and pockets) protruded with various medicines and supplies. Despite his hesitations, no one seemed to notice him ransacking cabinets like a raccoon digging through trashcans.  
  
The rest of them were exiting through the door of Abigail's room when Will returned. Alana offered a weak, relieved smile at his reappearance, while Hannibal nodded his head in a single motion, leading Abigail with one arm wrapped around her waist in support.  
  
Hannibal looked Will up and down, noticing his protruding pockets and sack of tools and supplies. “Good, Will,” Hannibal said, voice still sharp and tight with apprehension. “We must go. _Now_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That was a human being, Dr. Lecter,” Will cried out, his words thick with accusation, his voice trembling.
> 
> Hannibal looked to Will inquisitively. “Was,” he stated with a simple shrug of his shoulders, glancing back at Alana. “Not anymore.”

The hospital was alive with discordant alarms and the sound of raised voices, all climbing atop one another. They pushed into the busy hallway, following Hannibal, as he formed an opening for them to squeeze through.

“We’ll head to the stairway,” Hannibal said, lifting Abigail into his arms to carry her as if she were merely a knapsack. Will marveled at the way Hannibal commanded his strength, brandishing his shoulders out defensively as if he were putting on invisible armor, offering himself as the group's first line of defense. People moved from his path when they saw Hannibal, whereas Will simply dodged in and between those that came into his way.  
  
Will heard a voice, but the words were indistinguishable. It was Alana, apparently shouting at Hannibal. “We’re twelve floors up, Hannibal,” Alana argued, trying to yell loud enough for them to hear, just as she ducked beneath a nurse’s elbow. “You can’t carry her the whole way down, not with everyone else in the hallways.”  
  
“It’s not safe to be confined with these people, Alana. Many of them are already infected and don’t even know it,” Hannibal said, adding, “she weighs almost nothing. No elevators.” Will thought about being stuck in a crammed elevator with dozens of coughing, seizing people . He shivered and nodded in agreement with Hannibal, apologetically shrugging at Alana.  
  
They finally reached the entrance to the stairwell, convening to the side in a nook that was temporarily devoid of traffic.  
  
Alana held up a small, neon-green plastic card on her key ring.  
  
“It’s to Dr. Martin’s private elevator,” she said, allowing a sly smile to spread across her face. “No one uses it but upper-level admins. It’s just behind the office,” she offered, nodding her head at the direction. Hannibal raised an amused eyebrow at her.  
  
“I have my ways,” she said, a half smile exposing her unspoken tease. She winked playfully, trying to lighten the mood. Will looked as if he had tasted something foul before rolling his eyes at her. She chuckled at his reaction.  
  
“Hannibal can get the car, we’ll take Abigail and meet you downstairs,” she said, serious now, directing the group. “His elevator opens to the north side of the parking garage,” she added, explaining to Hannibal with demonstrative hand motions. He shook his head, conveying his disapproval, but finally conceded.  
  
“Don’t touch _anyone_ ,” he said, exchanging the weight of Abigail to Will, taking his bag of supplies in her stead. Will folded her into his arms as she reached her arms around his neck, grumbling about having to be carried. “Okay,” Will replied hesitantly, clearly not thrilled about the plan.

"Ugh, _put me down_ ," Abigail complained mildly. Hannibal put a finger to his lips, and smiled tenderly. She groaned, but stopped resisting and let herself be carried. She refused to be happy about it, though, and scowled with rebellious discontent. Will almost laughed at her stubbornness, but Hannibal's earnest instructions kept coming.   
   
“My colleague in Paris believes it to be spreading most rapidly by the exchange of bodily fluids,” Hannibal continued speaking to Will, “so best just to avoid any contact with people.”

Will gave him a sarcastic look. "Sure, _easy_ enough ..." he said, eyes darting around the hospital nervously. "Absolutely _no contact with people,_ "  
he repeated, already wearing a defeated sort of look.

Alana waited impatiently next to a key-coded door, eyes searing into Will, demanding for him to hurry. “Are … are you sure about this?” Will asked Hannibal quietly, leaning in, his voice almost a whisper as it cracked under the anxiety.  
   
He placed a hand on Will's shoulder. “I need you to trust me, Will,” the doctor said, forcing their eyes to meet. He raised his eyebrows, accentuating the unspoken question. Will was silent as he stared back at Hannibal, but finally relented a quick nod.

"Let's _go_ ," Abigail growled irritably, trying not to fidget under Will's far less commanding hold.  
  
“No detours, straight there,” Hannibal added, pulling his burgundy sweater over his nose and mouth, and making his way to the entrance of the stairwell, where he became lost in the flow of bodies.  
  
Will hurried over with Abigail as Alana swiped her card, opening the door that led them down a mostly-abandoned corridor. They encountered only one or two hospital employees, appearing to be searching for supplies, and mostly unconcerned with their seemingly obvious security breach. They walked right past a young woman in teal scrubs that glanced up and dropped a stack of papers upon noticing them. She dismissed them entirely, however, and immediately refocused her efforts back to the files she was frantically searching through with trembling fingers.

Alana and Will exchanged uneasy looks at her total lack of interest in their presence.  
  
“Maybe they all just recognize you,” Will said dismissively, “from your _visits with Dr. Martin_.” Alana stared blankly at him, disbelief written on her face. "I mean I'm sure they notice if you come here a lot ..." he continued, terribly unable to stop himself. Will tried to muster a smile, but choked and cleared his throat instead at the sight of Alana and Abigail both glaring at him, eyes searing and relentless in their disapproval.

"Oh, _now_ you're gonna judge me?" Alana snapped, halfway serious, giving a subtle, irritated shake of her head.  
   
Abigail turned and stared at Will, shaking her head slowly and deliberately as she bore into him with scolding eyes.  
  
“Sorry, bad joke,” Will offered with a nervous laugh. Neither female responded, and he plodded along, Abigail in tow, trailing behind Alana as she entered the sprawling office.  
   
They hurried across the open space, almost eerie in its sterility – no personal effects to be seen anywhere – but a stack of papers remained scattered across an abandoned desk at the head of the room. Will stopped to pick up a piece on the top, noting the letterhead of the CDC at the top of the page.

  * _The U.S. Department of Health and Human Servies (DHHS) in partnership with the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) are issuing a list of basic safety protocols for all hospitals so that they can be prepared to detect, contain, and eradicate any threat of the aggressive bucculentis influenza virus (BIV). Over 279,000 cases of (BIV) have been reported in the continental United States at the sending of this memorandum._



   
Will scanned the document’s letterhead for a date. 8 days ago. _Shit_ , he thought, processing the information.  
  
“ _Will_ , we have to move,” Alana said insistently, as she reached a gentle hand to his arm, pulling him away. He lifted a single finger to her, indicating that he needed a moment.  
   
“Just a sec …”  
   
Although his pockets were already brimming over in odds and ends, he swiped across the desk and grabbed a heaping stack of the papers, folding them and stuffing them into the back of his jeans, navigating his limbs around Abigail.  
   
He glanced back over his shoulder, thinking he heard a door shut, but there was no further movement nor time to debate it.  
  
“Alright, let’s go,” he said, as he followed Alana through another door, opening to a narrow, chrome elevator. Again she held the plastic card in front of the keypad and a light turned green, and they waited a moment for the elevator doors to open.  
   
It dinged as the metal front slid open, inviting them inside. They stepped inside the doors and Will and Alana exchanged a nervous glance as she hit the square plastic “P” button, noting the long stretch of buttons between their floor and the parking garage.  
  
As the doors came to a close, an unfamiliar voice shouted from the other side and a hand jutted into the gap, bouncing the metal panes open in reaction to the interruption. A young nurse in navy scrubs stood in front of them, pushing a hospital bed. A sheet draped over the cot, forming a lumpy pile, almost certainly covering a lifeless body.  
  
“ _We’re full_ ,” Will snapped angrily, panic rising in his chest over the pending confrontation. _No people_ , he reminded himself internally. _Remain calm, Will._ He wasn’t particularly crazy about the idea of being stuck in such close proximity to a dead body at the moment, either.  
  
“ _None of you_ are even supposed to be here,” the nurse said accusingly, pushing the bed even more and leaving almost no space for them to stand. "This is a _private_ elevator," she said, emphasizing each word with perfect inflection.  
   
“ _Wait_ – ” Will started to shout.  
   
The nurse hit the “door close” button before he could maneuver himself out of the corner, feeling awkward and unbalanced from the weight of carrying Abigail. He let out a low, disparaging groan as the elevator set off in motion.  
  
“I _have_ an access card,” Alana said, expression showing visible offense at the accusation. "We have as much of a right to be here as you do." She glared at the nurse, eyes narrowing.  
  
The nurse scoffed. “You think you’re the only cute girl Dr. Martin likes?” she said with a sneer. “She likes all the young, bubbly brunettes, honey,” she paused, and continued, “and you’re not _that_ young, anyways.”  
   
The elevator pinged as it lowered to each subsequent floor.  
  
Will's face contorted, eyes wincing, as he struggled to sort through the disjointed thoughts that ran through his mind. This was all wrong. _They shouldn't be here_ , he thought to himself. He suddenly struggled to find his breath.  
  
Alana’s cheeks flushed angrily and her eyes widened at the insult, as she exhaled loudly. “ _How dare you_ speak to me like that?” Alana retorted heatedly, the stress causing her voice to squeak and break like a prepubescent teenage boy.

 _Ping._  
  
The nurse glared back at Alana. “I was ordered to get this patient out of the hospital by any means necessary - and the other exits are all jammed! This is an issue of public safe – ”  
  
“ _Stop ... arguing_!” Will shouted, agitated by the noisy bickering and increasingly cramped quarters of the elevator. Abigail looked at him regretfully as the women continued to throw insults at one another.

 _Ping._  
  
Abigail suddenly noticed that a limp hand peeked out from under the cloth, with tiny black spots in the shape of birds forming a pattern across the wrist. Her eyes widened as she recognized the patient from her hospital room, becoming immediately, and excessively, aware of the speckles of blood that splattered across the draped fabric.

A twitch of his hand gave temporary flight to the lifeless flock that adorned his skin.  
  
“Hey …” Abigail breathed out, throaty and dry … and completely inaudible. She swallowed hard.

 _Ping._  
  
“What kind of 'safety issue' would require you to take a body down a private elevator?” Alana demanded to the nurse, her voice shrill and exasperated.  
  
Will groaned again, shooting Alana a disapproving scowl, begging her to quit being so combative.  
  
Abigail watched as the thumb at the base of the bird cluster was moving in circles, the other fingers following in movement, and the once-still hand slowly extended open and closed. Her heart raced as Abigail realized it was in full motion, tugging repeatedly at Will’s collar.

 _Ping._  
   
“Will,” she croaked out, as he turned to her. She pointed down to the body, but its hands were heavy and lifeless at its side once again.  
   
“We’re almost out of here, Abigail,” he uttered, as much to himself as to her.  
   
She clung to Will, her grip pressing uncomfortably against him, restricting his breath. The nurse and Alana still squabbled back and forth, but Will was finding some success in tuning them out.  
   
“No,” she mustered, shaking her head back and forth. “Will,” she leaned in so he could understand her words, eyes large and brimming with fear, “ _it’s still alive_.”  
   
Their eyes traced the same trajectory, looking down to the body, but the flock of birds was missing, the hand no longer suspended in the open space next to the table. Will squeezed Abigail defensively, heart racing.

 _Ping._  
  
Will started to speak. “Alana –”  
  
A low, guttural sound emerged from under the tarp as a hand lashed out, grabbing Alana by the arm, digging its nails into her flesh and dragging across the skin. A blood-curdling scream penetrated the elevator walls as the afflicted body sprang forth from under the cloth, pulling Alana’s arm close, and sinking teeth into the muscles of her flesh.  
  
She managed to pull away from his grasp, huddling into Will, who set Abigail down into the corner, and placed himself strategically in front of them both, his arms open and stretched out protectively. The nurse shrieked at the sight of her Alana’s mangled appendage, her blood dripping into the tile cracks of the elevator floor. At the sound of her scream, the diseased creature lunged for the nurse, making contact with her shoulder and landing a bite into the side of her neck.  
  
They watched, horrified, as it gnawed and ripped out pieces of her throat with its teeth, seemingly insatiable in appetite. Strips of flesh fell from the creature's mouth as it tore through the skin as if it were no tougher than a sheet of paper. The nurse no longer screamed or resisted as her body fell limp against the wall of the elevator, sliding down to the floor, as the blood spilled down her front and created an expanding pool where it drained.  
  
The patient turned toward Will, allowing them to get a visual on the young man for the first time. His eyes were drained of their color, looking almost jaundiced in pigment, with no recognizable hint of human consciousness. Blood smeared thick against his cheeks, running down his jawline, dripping sluggishly to the floor like a leaky faucet. He released a raw, frothy growl as he lunged toward Will, frail in strength and lacking any presence of grace.  
  
_Ping_.  
  
The elevator door opened just as Will countered the attack, knocking the diseased assailant, and himself in the process, to the ground. He shouted indecipherable instructions, ushering Abigail and Alana out of the elevator, recognizing Hannibal’s sleek silhouette in his peripheral. Will slipped and fumbled over himself, struggling to make his limbs work. He finally gained enough traction to jump to his feet and vacated the enclosure, huffing and gasping for air as he joined by Hannibal’s side.  
   
“What. _The fuck_ is happening?” Will yelled, wheezing the words, as he turned to face the doctor.  
  
Hannibal stood still, alarmingly composed, watching Will curiously as he looked to the elevator and back toward his group. Abigail clung to his arm weakly, still shaken, exhaling heavily. Alana was behind them, bowed over, fashioning a tourniquet out of the sleeve from her sweater.  
   
The psychiatrist placed a steady hand on Will’s shoulder. “This virus,” Hannibal said calmly, “It’s been causing a truly remarkable, and frankly unprecedented, involuntary response from its victim’s autonomous nervous system.”  
   
“I … I saw him die,” Will stammered.  
   
“Yes, it’s quite a crude disease,” Hannibal replied, “taking over our involuntary actions after our conscious mind has died.”  
   
“That’s _insane_ , Dr. Lecter,” Will said, shaking his head, unable to comprehend it all. " _Impossible.._."  
   
“I’ve arranged our transportation, Will,” he said. “I will get Abigail secured, you take care of _that_ ,” he directed, nodding his head toward the direction of the elevator, where the blood-soaked atrocity emerged through the door, dragging slowly toward them.  
  
" _What_?" he said frantically. “Are you crazy?” he demanded, his voice shaking and strained, eyes wide as he balked at the suggestion. “We have _to go_. I have to go. I…” he stuttered, “I have … I have to get my dogs,” he managed finally, through shaking breaths.  
  
Hannibal propped Abigail on her own feet, giving her a reassuring pat to make sure she was balanced and steady. He sighed at Will, casting him a disappointed frown.  
   
Motioning forward, he walked toward the lurching, gruesome figure that staggered in their direction and removed a slim, narrow rod from his coat pocket, just barely short enough to have even plausibly fit there. As it approached, limbs dragging and unsteady, Hannibal stilled, waiting patiently until he was within arm’s reach and forced the end of the steel rod into its neck with precision, jamming it all the way through the back of his head. Thick blood poured from the wound as it collapsed into a pile on the concrete floor of the parking garage.  
  
Hannibal retracted the rod from the man’s skull and looked to Will, who stared at the doctor, jaw agape, brows furrowed.  
  
“That’s … that was a _human being_ , Dr. Lecter,” Will cried out, his words thick with accusation, his voice trembling.  
  
Hannibal looked to Will inquisitively. “ _Was_ ,” he stated with a simple shrug of his shoulders, glancing back at Alana. “Not anymore.”  
   
“What … _what the hell is that_?” Will asked, panic-stricken, looking to the steel rod, still brandished in Hannibal’s hand.  
   
“This?” he said with an amused tone, holding the steel up to admire it in his hands. “It’s an intramedullary rod, Will,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Used for patients with broken bones; this one, for example, was made for a broken femur." Hannibal shrugged. “Stopped at the orthopedic floor on my way down,” he said with a nonchalant flick of the eyebrows.  
   
A look of utter disbelief painted Will’s face until he turned around, suddenly remembering Alana and Abigail. Blood soaked through Alana’s makeshift bandage as she held the wound tightly with her opposite hand.  
  
“We… we need to get them out of here,” Will urged, looking from Alana to Abigail.  
  
“I have a place for us to go, Will,” Hannibal said, smoothly, “though it's a bit of a drive.”  
   
He took the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from the steel rod, immediately discarding the cloth on the ground, as he headed toward his car. The sleek, black Bentley Arnage waited nearby as Hannibal pocketed his new weapon and wrapped a tender arm around Abigail, escorting her into the backseat.  
  
Will bent down to meet Alana, placing his unsteady fingers atop her soft hands, still warm and delicate to the touch. She looked up to him weakly, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.  
  
“Let me take you to my house,” he said bleakly. “I have a generator, we can be safe there.” He caressed a thumb around the palm of her undamaged hand, a small, but welcomed comfort. She managed a somber smile in return.  
  
“You have to go with Hannibal, Will,” she said, lifting her widened eyes to meet his own. “With Abigail.”  
  
“No … no,” Will stammered, shaking his head compulsively, refusing to accept her words. “I’ll stay with you. With my dogs.” His eyes glistened, lashes dampening as he spoke.  
  
A tear trailed down her cheek as Alana shifted on her toes, lifting herself to Will, but pulling away from the touch just as she remembered Hannibal’s warning. She retracted her hand as they exchanged a sorrowful glance, Alana rising to her feet.  
  
“I’ll go to your house, Will,” she said, pausing, before firmly, adding, “ _alone_.”  
  
“What?” he asked frantically, standing to his feet, “You _can’t_ be serious!”  
  
“Will, I’m infected,” she said, eyes shifting to the side. “You can’t go with me, but you can go with Hannibal. Help Abigail survive.”  
  
“Why would I want that?” he spat out angrily, hands trembling in frustration.  
  
“You can still save Abigail, Will,” Alana said, eyes pleading. "And yourself. I’ll take care of your dogs, make sure they’re fed and given what they need.” She looked up to meet his eyes, obviously agonized over the decision.  
  
He shook his head angrily. "You can’t _make me_ go with Hannibal,” he said, disparaging, glaring off to the side.  
  
“No … I can’t,” Alana replied tenderly. An apologetic, wistful smile curved along her lips as she looked over Will’s shoulder, “but he can.”  
  
Will turned to see Hannibal facing him. He felt a quick, stabbing pain as the world around him blurred and melted, giving way to darkness.  
                                                                                                     


	3. Chapter 3

Will’s eyes opened slowly, recognizing the comfort of his own bed and the menagerie of ragtag mutts sleeping lazily at the end. He thought he could hear a faint barking in the distance, echoing from woods. As he focused his blurred, sleep-hazed vision, Will realized that Winston was not among the pack.

“Winston?” he called out, expecting the fluffy, dapple-faced pup to appear instantly at the sound of his voice. Instead, the other dogs simply looked to him with their heads cocked in confusion. Will jumped out of bed, slipping into a pair of fleece-lined slippers, and walked briskly to the front door.

“Winston?” he called out once again, as he pulled a heavy coat over his pajamas and shuffled outside.

The barking became more distinct, and he could see a faint outline of a creature standing across the field in the distance. Fresh snow glistened around him like miniature crystals as Will made his way across the open space, quickening with each step, heading to the tree line. He ran now as the barking became louder, Winston’s distinct silhouette becoming apparent. Winston stood facing the wooded area, barking repeatedly at a mysterious creature shadowed by the branches of the trees.

“It’s okay, Winston,” Will cooed softly, lowering his posture and gesturing for him to come.

But the dog made no movement or acknowledgement of his presence at all, instead continuing in the barrage of barks. Will pressed forward, walking past the dog, and headed to face the beast that stood just beyond the forest edge. The shape of a doe materialized as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, her head bowed to the ground.

As he approached the deer from its hind side, Will noticed she was quite lean and mottled with dried blood. His heartbeat pounded between his temples, beating relentlessly as he drew near, realizing she was eagerly grazing on a decaying, rotted corpse. Human or animal, the pile of stinking flesh was beyond the point of identification.

Will’s face was twisted in disgust, as he turned back toward the house, but he lost his footing and fell backward, creating a perfect indent of his body in the powdered snow. Winston continued to bark mechanically, in repetition, as the doe slowly veered its body, heavy limbs plodding in single steps toward him, hurdling closer and closer. Will wanted to move, or scream, or even just breathe, but the suffocating blanket of terror squeezed his body tight, rendering him motionless.

His heart was in his throat, frozen in fear, as the deer hovered above him, bits of flesh hanging from the side of its mouth as tiny drops of blood trickled from her jowls and dripped into the snow. Her fur seemed to be decomposing, as chunks were missing in various patches, revealing sticky, pink flesh.

 _Get up_ , he thought.

The doe lowered her head, meeting Will's eyes. Instead of the wide, inky eyes she should have had, there were sunken, cloudy holes, glowing neon in the moonlight.

_GET. UP._

“ _Winston_!” Will finally shouted, “ _RUN_!”

Suddenly it was quiet. Will turned toward Winston, but all he saw was the hind legs of the dog running into the woods at full speed. Will’s heart still pounded furiously, but a strange wave of relief washed over him before everything went dark once again.

**************************************

The abrasive sound of static permeated his senses, as his eyes opened and struggled to focus on his surroundings. Muffled words briefly registered between the harsh scratchiness of the searching frequency. A radio broadcast was fading in and out, the voices hardly audible through the breakage.

He was sitting in the front seat of a car, a nice car. Hannibal’s car. Will leered sideways, Hannibal appearing in his line of sight, proper posture, focused on his driving.

“I'm glad you've awakened, Will,” he said with a flick of the finger, mercifully clicking off the radio.

Will's thoughts came racing back. The elevator, the man who came back to life. Alana. She'd been infected. _This is real_ , he said, wincing as thought to himself. His face dropped, eyes hitting the floor, and he became frozen as he recalled his last memory.

_Betrayal._

He peered slowly over to the doctor, who waited with a wistfully patient stare. "Tell me, are you feeling alright?" Hannibal asked. Will's brows drew over his eyes as he glared at the older man in the driver's seat, the traitor. Will turned away and sat in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But,” Will added, “if I was trying avoid unwanted attention, I'd probably take almost anything other than a fucking Bentley.”

**Day 0 – 12:45 AM**

**INTERSTATE 95, NORTH CAROLINA**

 

It was pitch black outside. Except for an occasional silhouette of the tree line illuminated by light posts on the side of the freeway and the infrequent reflective markers, no clues presented themselves to help Will determine their whereabouts. Not that he even really cared.

Though Will stared out the passenger side window, he could sense Hannibal’s eyes lingering from the driver’s seat. He shifted his body toward the window, further distancing himself from the psychiatrist. Will had numerous choice words for him, all running the gauntlet through his head, popping up in his brain like the balls inside a bingo cage and creating random, unrelated and nonsensical combinations.

 _Goddamn-Motherfucker-Sonofabitch-Bastard_. Will's head sunk low between his shoulders as he sat in silence, stewing. 

Hannibal cleared his throat. “You seem to have fainted – ”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Will snapped, expelling the word like venom, and still refusing to face him. His breaths were shallow and heavy, chest heaving up and down. Wisely Hannibal decided not to prod him again and remained quiet.

Will sighed, heavier than he’d intended, and begrudgingly turned to face Hannibal.

“Just … _don’t_ lie to me,” Will said, voice stretched out from exhaustion. He cringed at the unexpected amount of desperation in his voice. “I’m _aware_ of what just happened to me.” Each word he spoke dripped with resentment as he stared at the older man, daring him to challenge the accusation. Hannibal nodded his head with a subtle dip.

As his senses started returning, Will remembered his cell phone and began searching his pockets, finding it in the front slip of his coat, his clumsy fingers requiring unusually great effort to operate it. Hannibal cleared his throat. “Does it make it easier, _Will_ , to assign blame for what happened to Alana?” Hannibal asked mildly, adding, “to blame me?” His mouth formed a tense, firm line as he spoke.

Will reacted as if he tasted something foul, curling his lip at the psychiatrist. _Is he really surprised that I’m mad?_ he wondered. The thought infuriated him even more. “I blame you for the singular act of drugging and _kidnapping me_ ,” Will said heatedly, lowering his tone to a whisper halfway through as he remembered Abigail, now sleeping in the backseat.

She was sprawled across the backseat with a heap of hospital pillows and blankets surrounding her. Headphones covered her ears as she slept soundly, while quiet breaths rose and fell under the fabric. A book rested under one of her arms, tucked loosely into her side, but he couldn’t make out the title. Will was strangely relieved she hadn’t heard his accusation, even though it was true.

“Dr. Bloom was passionately devoted to her oaths, Will – _do no harm_ , and all that,” Hannibal said, as he watched him return to his phone, thumbing the buttons in frustration. Will stopped mashing his fingertips against the screen and turned to the doctor.

“You _don’t_ , apparently,” Will said, more like a question than an accusation.

“We were looking out for your best interest. And _Abigail’s_.” Hannibal sighed. “I quite likely saved your life, Will.”

The indignant undercurrent in Hannibal’s tone rubbed him the wrong way, and Will resisted the urge to suggest that he _stick it up his ass._ He allowed it to play through in his mind, however, and savored the would-be look of offense he would receive in return. “Wasn’t yours to save,” he settled on, grumbling in a low voice, before returning to his device. He hoisted it up and down in the air, checking for signal reception, and muttered incoherently under his breath.

“Reception has been shoddy for the last … ” Hannibal started, more tepid now, trailing off and glancing briefly at his watch, “two hours or so. I received my last e-mail 45 minutes ago.”

He put the phone to his ear, ignoring Hannibal’s words, and listened for any identifying sound that his call was going through. Again and again Will highlighted and selected Alana’s contact information, but could not establish a connection, the calls producing nothing but generic error messages from the carrier.

“It’s quite rural here, this part of North Carolina,” Hannibal offered, overly-helpful. “May have more luck when we approach the city.”

Will looked skeptically at his psychiatrist. “What city is that?”

“Heading just past Atlanta, Will. I have a place for us there,” Hannibal said, turning his head to check on their patient in the backseat. Abigail shifted to her side, adjusting slightly, but eyes still closed.

Exasperated and overwhelmed, Will slung his cell phone into the floorboards at the latest failed attempt to make a call. “I think I need some air, Dr. Lecter,” Will said, palming his face between his hands.

Hannibal was exceedingly cautious in determining their course, choosing to avoid major cities and crowded highways so as to interact with the least amount of people necessary. Even so, the normally sparse roads had been rather populated tonight, with clusters of streamlined headlights indicating that many were traveling in caravans. Given the rate at which conditions had already deteriorated, it was logical to assume the congestion would only worsen.

“Please,” Will asked again, interrupting Hannibal’s train of thought. “Can we pull over?”

“I would not advise it, at this time,” Hannibal answered, carefully choosing his words as he looked hesitantly to Will, anticipating an unhappy reaction. Will pulled at the tufts of fabric around his knees, nervously shifting his eyes back and forth, his legs jittering restlessly.

“ _This is crazy_ ,” Will said, panicked, his head shaking absently back and forth, unable to wrap his mind around all of the day’s events.

"We'll stop," the psychiatrist reassured, pausing to move his hand across the center console and place it atop the younger man’s hand, fingers still fidgeting on his restless, bouncing knees. “ _I promise_.”

Will jerked his hand out from under Hannibal’s and shifted his entire body away from him. The touch felt like a violation in that moment, and Will felt the hot flash of anger rise up from his stomach.

“It’s not safe here, Will,” he replied, calm and casting a nuanced nod toward Abigail in the back. “The virus is spreading, panic is setting in, people are behaving … quite unpredictably.”

With eyes closed, Will exhaled, trying to steady himself and find the sense in Hannibal’s words. He suddenly cocked his head to the side, struck with realization. His eyes opened and followed a trail around the inside of their vehicle, analyzing the hand-carved wood that trimmed around the door and the dash, as he lazily grazed a finger along the circular gauges in the center.

“So I guess the Bentley is _not_ a stealthy get-a-way vehicle, Dr. Lecter?” he asked, lifting wide eyes toward the older man.

Hannibal’s eyelids narrowed to slits as they seared sideways at the younger man in the passenger’s seat. For some reason, this reaction struck Will as amusing and he found himself laughing, of all things. Just a brief, week-night-sitcom kind of half-chuckle, but it caught both men off guard, tangibly lightening the tension. Will shrugged dismissively. “Really surprising, that’s all,” he said, voice flattening back to a serious tone. “Because so often when someone drives a Bentley, they get _absolutely no extra attention_ directed at them …”

“What would you have suggested then, Will?” Hannibal huffed out, immediately regretting the phrasing of his question.

He stared at his psychiatrist blankly for a brief moment and smiled, taking note of the apparent dread on Hannibal’s face as he awaited the response. “Should have asked me _before_ you stuck a needle in me,” he said, voice low and soft, allowing a dangerous smile to form on his lips. Hannibal knew better than to argue, so he didn't.

“But,” Will added, “if I was trying _avoid unwanted attention_ , I'd probably take almost anything other than _a fucking Bentley_.”

Before he retreated back to his corner, Will thought he noticed the slightest hint of amusement flashing briefly across the doctor’s face before he flicked his hand over a knob in the console, turning on the radio.

Static permeated their ears, and Will flinched uncomfortably as the white noise resonated from all the speakers. Hannibal pressed his finger against the scanning button, searching for a radio signal until finally a crackled voice faded in and steadied enough to understand. A female voice with a London accent, tone grim and reserved, read through a list of emergency supplies recommended by the World Health Organization.

_“ … batteries, distilled water, non-perishable food items are considered absolutely essential items. We would remind you that fuel has already begun to be rationed, with most major cities reporting shortages …”_

The audio feed cracked and faded consistently as they drove along, both men listening silently to the intermittent broadcast.

Los Angeles was the first city to fall into martial law, apparently, with Albuquerque, Omaha, and San Antonio following shortly behind. They played an excerpt from an interview with a doctor from Wisconsin who hypothesized that the virus was spreading slower in colder climates, causing an exodus of panicked citizens to migrate north. Reports of people freezing to death while waiting in line at the Canadian border were already circulating.

“And so we head south,” Will said, feigning enthusiasm.

Hannibal smirked, and said, “Don’t worry. Will. My colleague from Paris, Dr. Beauneveu, said that Moscow was already overrun with the virus. Cold doesn’t help for long.”

“Sure would be fun to freeze to death, though, while waiting for it to kill us,” he said. “ _BIV_ , or whatever they’re calling it.”

Hannibal nodded agreeably, ignoring Will’s sarcasm. “They’re cleverly calling it _Wildfire_ , now, in the U.S.,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “ _Bucculentis influenza virus_ was too much of a mouthful, I suppose.”

Will shot the doctor a dirty look. “What about any of this could you _possibly find_ entertaining?” he asked, his brows and forehead creased, shaking his head.

 _Who cares what it’s called_ , Will thought. _It’s a fucking nightmare_.

Hannibal lifted his shoulders in an ambivalent shrug. “I am merely observing the peculiarities of human behavior in such circumstances, Will. Being fascinated by such behavior does not equate to my own personal enjoyment,” he said, a lie so obvious that Will just considered it sarcasm.

Abigail stirred in the backseat, as one of her many pillows slid into the floorboards and the book at her side fell to the ground with a light thud, drawing Will's attention. Flannery O’Connor, he noticed. The book Alana had been reading to her, he thought absently, before pushing the memory away.

“Has she been asleep the whole time?” Will asked, peering back at her.

“The pain medicine has likely made her quite drowsy,” he replied, “she may sleep until we stop, given the ordeal she has been through.” Will scoffed loudly, shaking his head at the understatement. Getting a flat tire on the freeway is an ordeal, he thought bitterly. _She’s been through pure hell_.

The radio broadcast crackled in and out for nearly an hour before they had to skip to another frequency. The only station they could seem to find featured some seemingly low-level local city officials of some sort, voices coated with the thick twang of a particularly-rural Southern accent, prattling on about the latest, and most outrageous speculations concerning the virus.

“Do we _really_ have to listen to this?” Will complained childishly, complete with a long exhale and dramatic roll of the eyes.

“I’m sure it will be _quite_ insightful, Will,” he replied evenly, trying desperately to keep a straight face. "You mustn't be so closed-minded all the time."

“Okay,” he grumbled irritably, " _whatever_."

Hannibal tried to subdue his amusement, but he chuckled lightly to himself as the first speaker warned of spiritual revolution, claiming that the biblical Revelation was upon us. He insisted to the others that he had seen a demon, surely sent to Earth as retribution for society’s sinful behavior. Another guest cut him off, insisting that the _Wildfire_ virus was the product of a complex terrorist attack using biochemical weapons. The third voice was convinced of a clandestine government-alien-alliance conspiracy.

Will tried to drown out the banter, but his thoughts were buzzing around his mind, angry and chaotic, further obfuscating his ability to think clearly. He resigned to sit and listen to the crazy, old bats arguing back and forth with one another.

Both of them sat in silence, listening, as the broadcast droned on and on, while Hannibal navigated through the isolated countryside. There was plenty fire and brimstone to be thrown around as the voices on the radio worked themselves into a shouting match over conspiracy theories and blood omens and crying Virgin Mary statues in Sao Paolo.

 

 

> _“I hope yer ready, James,”_ said the first voice, the one sounding the oldest and nearest to death. (The man choked on a phlegmy cough nearly every time he finished speaking.) “ _Cause the plagues are comin, and so is He_.”
> 
> Someone snickered. Then a scoff. “ _God’s long gone from here_ ,” one of the men responded, his voice eerily low and frankly, unnerving, as it blended with the cracking and hissing of the station trying to keep its signal.
> 
> There was a long, wheezing sigh, followed by a _tut-tut-tut_ clicking of tongue and teeth. “ _Well_ ,” spoke the first man, pausing for another emphysematous coughing fit, “ _I’ll be sleepin’ with my Bible in hand tonight, boys, I know that much.”_
> 
> “ _You sleep with your bible_ ,” said the third man, with the corrosive rasp of someone who could take down a fifth of Jack in one swig. “ _I’ll sleep with my gun_.”
> 
> They were silent for moment as the static sizzled unpleasantly against the quietness. “ _But don’t go askin’ for any help when the devils knockin’ on your door ain’t stopped by yer holy stack of papers_.”
> 
> Someone gulped audibly. “ _God bless us all_.”
> 
>  

_Enough_ , Will thought as he punched the console knob with his finger, turning the sound off. Hannibal didn’t argue this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I restructured three of these chapters, so if you've read some parts before I'm really sorry! Got it under control now, though and thank you for reading. Again I love to read everyone's comments! 
> 
> I'm trying to get back on schedule to update ASAP but being an adult is awful sometimes and very time consuming. *looooong sigh*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiled humorlessly, suppressing a scoff, looking from Hannibal and back to Will. “Well … I gotta admit,” he said, “I think it might be a little personal now.”

Finally veering off the interstate, Hannibal drove them down a narrow, county highway with uneven asphalt that jolted the car each time they hit a pothole (which was often given the neglected state of the road). A sudden jolt ran through Will as a series of melodic chimes interrupted their silence, his hands scurrying around the floor to find the cell phone he’d discarded earlier. When he managed to recover it, the screen lit up with a flashing box at the top, indicating a new message. His heart surged; it was Alana.

He was keenly aware of the psychiatrist observing him from the driver’s seat, eyes flitting back and forth from the road to his phone. “It’s from Alana,” he said aloud, indulging the doctor’s curiosity. He simply nodded and looked away, attempting to subdue his overly-apparent interest. Will’s chest inflated as he took a deep breath, working up the courage to read the message. His fingers were stiff and shaky as they scrolled across his screen.  
 _  
\- Tried to call, couldn’t get through. Dogs are good. Happy. They had bacon for dinner ... so did I. SO much bacon :)_

_\- Thank you for helping Abigail. You and Hannibal can protect her. You can trust him. Be safe, Will._

Tears formed in his eyes as he read and re-read the text. “She says they ate bacon,” he vocalized with a strained smile that gave way to a sob, which he tried to choke back. His breath labored unevenly as his eyes moved up and down the screen.

“Will …” Hannibal began, with a soft tenderness that seemed incongruous to his typical matter-of-fact way of speaking. Before he could finish, the inappropriately fanciful chime repeated as Will held the phone in his palm, another message received.

It was a picture.

The dogs. Winston was sitting in his kitchen, the others visible in the background, their attention focused on the floor as they appeared to be eating. Winston’s fluffy, copper mane framed his face, eyes wide and alert, but with a small strip of bacon peeking out from the side of his mouth. Will smiled through his tears, sadness washing over him with the force of a tidal wave.

His first instinct was to respond, but the fading daylight shining through the kitchen windows from the picture revealed that it had been taken hours ago. He knew there was no point in replying. The realization produced an emptiness so profound it felt as if it would swallow him whole. “S – Stop the car,” he stammered, blankly staring at the image. Hannibal said nothing, but glanced in the rearview mirror, and then to the mirrors on the side.

“Hannibal,” Will said, so quietly that he nearly missed it, adding, “ _please_.”

The car slowed down and pulled into the lot of an empty gas station, nearly undetectable from the highway due to the lack of functioning lights. One nearby streetlight flickered on and off, temporarily brightening a path for Will as he heaved the door open and walked briskly, in no particular direction.

He paced around in circles, desperately attempting to clear his thoughts of Alana and the dogs, only to be inundated with vivid imagery of just that – and tears trailed down his cheeks as he envisioned Alana comforting the dogs in that soothing, musical tone she had, assuring them that everything would be okay. _It won't be, though,_ he thought, wiping his face on his shirtsleeve.

His thoughts were interrupted as a bright, intrusive flash of light penetrated the darkness, blinding him temporarily and he raised an open hand to shield his face, squinting as it approached. He heard the car door open as Hannibal stepped out of the vehicle and joined Will in the abandoned lot.

“We have company,” the psychiatrist announced. The loud roar of an engine revved as dirt and gravel skidded from underneath its tires and Will recognized a thick, burnt-metal smell that stung his nostrils as it clouded around him.

_He was back in Louisiana, hunched over a clunky, uncooperative hunk of metal that refused to be brought back to life and, after several unsuccessful hours of tinkering, he was at his wit’s fucking end. He gripped the wrench between his grease-coated fingers and bashed it against the bastard, over and over, the steel loudly clamoring in discord against all its metal parts. A sudden hissing sound caught him off guard as the motor suddenly found movement and a heavy fog of gray smoke exploded into Will’s face as it started up. The diesel smoke coursed through his lungs and throat, (as well as covering his face with a smudgy, ashen sheen), and it stung on his nostrils for days. He would never forget that smell._

“Will!” Hannibal shouted in a desperate whisper, urgently calling him back to the present. Will blinked absently, grounded himself, and looked to Hannibal with an assured nod.

As the engine quieted to a purr, the headlights softened, still bright but no longer blinding, and the the outline of three men emerged from the sizeable, but hard-weathered truck. Their faces were obscured in the glare, but puffs of breath rose above them in the frigid, winter air as they stalked their way toward Will and Hannibal.

“Well, well, well,” said the first man, striding out in front of the other two, each slow, sardonic word dripping with a lazy Southern drawl.

As the man stepped forward, Will saw the shotgun in his hands - a worn, rusted 12-gauge, awkwardly balanced between his fingers - and suddenly he was looking down the length of a barrel. He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth together. “Good evening,” Will mustered stiffly.

He took a slow step backward toward Hannibal, who instinctively raised a protective hand across his chest like a shield. Will shot him a panicked _what-the-fuck_ look and the older man immediately dropped his arm back to his side (almost embarrassed, Will thought), but not before Mr. Shotgun took notice of their exchange.

“ _Awwwww_ , that’s sweet,” he said, eyeing them both before breaking into a disgusting grin that revealed slightly crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.

“What can we do for you gentlemen?” Hannibal asked with steady politeness, but Will sensed the tightness underneath his seemingly-calm tone. "We were just stopping for a quick stretch of the legs."

Sandy, unkempt locks sprouted out from under the man’s baseball cap and he clearly hadn’t shaved in days given the patchy splotches of hair that filled in sporadically along the curve of his jaw. “Get a look at these two _fancy fuckers_ ,” he said crudely, voice spitting out the sarcasm, while turning to the two men behind him. They snickered and jeered wildly in response.

Will raised a skeptical eyebrow at the man, strangely horrified at the accusation. _Fancy_? he disparaged internally. He tried to ignore the offense, but couldn't control the unexpected outrage that boiled inside at the jab. His expression conveyed his displeasure as he bore eyes into their assailant, unflinching.

“Unfortunately, my friend here lacks my good taste and manners,” Hannibal said dryly, adding, “I can attest to the fact that he is hardly _fancy_ , as you say.” He smiled politely.

 _Oh God, shut up Hannibal._ Will thought, wincing at his words _. That’s not going to help._

Mr. Shotgun looked positively amused, uttering a throaty chuckle as he looked back to his accomplices. He produced a wet, frothy gurgle and spit from the side of his mouth, the snuff splashing across the concrete, landing inches from Will's feet. His stomach churned in revulsion and he had to ignore the nausea that set in, willing away the urge to gag.

“Sorry to disturb your _date night_ , boys,” he said, grinning at his own perceived cleverness, “but we got business to take care of, nothing personal, ya know.” His stained smile flashed grotesquely, causing Will to look as if he were actually going to throw up at the sight.

“Of course,” Hannibal said with a nod, returning the smile, “ _nothing personal_.”

The two indistinct figures emerged from the dark and took up a place at either side of the first man, obviously their leader of sorts. On his left was a tall and lean, scraggly man with stringy, straw-like hair that fell just at his shoulders, a mesh camouflage hat covering his head. A tire iron hung to his side, gripped firmly in his hand. On his opposite side, a heavy-set man with a bushy, dark beard glared at them through beady eyes that were too close together, making his exaggerated scowl seem more like dimwitted confusion. He twisted a wooden baseball bat between his fingers, rolling it back and forth in his palms.

The scraggly man nodded his head, his wispy goatee framing his lips as he spoke. “Nice ride,” he said, smiling as he brandished the metal rod.

 _Hannibal and that goddamned car,_ Will fumed internally. His thoughts turned to the sleeping young girl in the back of their car, but he dared not look back for fear of giving something away. Will lifted open palms in the air, facing the three men in a submissive gesture.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, slightly more desperate sounding than he had meant. “W – we, don’t have anything you need. You can have the car, if that’s what you want,” he offered, as Hannibal darted his eyes toward Will in offended annoyance.

“Your boyfriend don’t seem too sure ‘bout that,” said the fatter man, with a derogatory, squeal-like laugh. The others joined in on the laughter.

“ _That_ ,” Hannibal said, pausing for effect, “is a 2003 Bentley Arnage, and I highly doubt any of _you_ would have any use for it.” His tone was perfectly, and deliberately condescending.

Will craned his head slowly to glare at the older gentleman, fighting the urge to punch him in the face, as their eyes all narrowed in on Hannibal, expressions ranging from amused annoyance to outright pissed-off. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” The leader snorted a hyper-masculine scoff directed at Hannibal, but kept the shotgun aimed at Will. He tried to follow Hannibal’s lead, retaining a calm and focused passivity, but the sound of a car door ignited a jolt of panic through him, his heart plummeting to the floor, as he turned to see Abigail step into view.

 _No … please … no_ … Will begged silently.

“W-Will? Dr. Lecter?” Abigail called out softly, disoriented, her senses still struggling to adjust as she winced into the headlights.

“Go _back_ ,” Will demanded harshly, voice shaking, already aware that it was useless to warn her.

The other men were mostly hidden by the night shadows, and before she even noticed them, the lanky one crept behind her and extended an open arm around her waist, pulling her close, iron rod still enclosed in his opposite fist. “Now _this_ ,” he said with a long-hanging, obscene leer as he eyed the young woman up and down, “ain’t what we expected to pop outta there.” As he looked to the car, another chorus of guffaws echoed from between them.

Abigail stood frozen in fear as he traced a callus-toughened finger down the side her cheek, letting out a delighted, shrill cackle. Her skin crawled at the touch and she tried to wriggle out of his grip, but the man held on even tighter as she squirmed. “Don’t _touch her!_ ” Will barked furiously, jumping to action, but the man with the shotgun centered the muzzle and pushed it against his sternum. Rage boiled inside of Will, as he watched the loathsome creature caress Abigail's skin.

A _fter all she's been through_ , he thought, chest huffing in and out wildly, _I'll be damned if I’ll let them hurt her_. Will's eyes burned furiously, focused on the armed assailant in front of him.

The leader made a clicking, “tsk” between his tongue and teeth. “Now… y’all can’t really think we'd let _you_ keep ‘er? A smile twisted the corners of his mouth as he lifted the barrel to meet Will's eyes, piercing back, unflinching and steady in their resolve. He looked to Hannibal. "I _highly doubt_ ," he said, mocking Hannibal's own words, "either of _you_ would have any use for her." Will growled at the slight, baring his teeth.

There was something was off about the guy, though, Will was certain. His eyes were sallow, as if they’d been drained of their color, and sweat trickled from his temples despite the bone-chilling temperature outside. Unsteady fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the firearm, the round opening tottering and wonky in front of Will's face. His eyes strayed over to Hannibal as they exchanged a subtle glance.

Hannibal’s shoulders lifted as he let out a long, heavy sigh. “Actually I think we'll keep her,” he said flatly, though his maroon eyes narrowed on the pudgy, bearded man that wielded the wooden bat at him. The bearded man let out a bellowing, horse-like laugh, tilting his head back as his beer-belly jiggled in synchronized motion with his cackling. He brought the baseball bat in front of him, tapping the end against his open palm.

The world started to blur around Will, everything spinning into a darkened whirlwind. _Stop it_ , he thought, _stay focused._ He had blocked out most of what the fat one had been heckling on about, but caught the end of an expletive-laced tirade he was apparently unloading on Hannibal. The psychiatrist sighed again, indicating his disapproval, his expression halfway between offense and boredom. “I can certainly assure you that my _fellatio abilities_ will never need to be a concern of _yours_ ,” he retorted wryly, allowing just a hint of a smirk to flash.

Will’s ears burned hot, flushing with rage, or embarrassment, (or maybe something else entirely, he didn’t know) and he felt his nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. The leader smiled humorlessly, suppressing a scoff, looking from Hannibal and back to Will. “Well … I gotta admit,” he said, “I think it might be a _little_ personal now.”

Will and Hannibal exchanged a quick glance, confirming that the feeling was mutual.

“We’re _takin_ ’ the car, and we’re _takin_ ’ the girl," Mr. Shotgun said, emphasizing each word, “but don’t worry. We’ll kill you two first, so you don’t have to watch what we _do to 'er_.” His mouth spread into an inhuman smile as he met the righteous fury in Will’s glare with cold, emotionless eyes.

Abigail was still, eyes wide and fearful, as the lanky man traced his fingers through her hair, eyeing her greedily. Will met her eyes. “Don’t watch,” he instructed sternly. Her chest heaved in and out, breaths huffing out of her audibly, as she trembled under the delicately sinister touch. She managed a nod.  

Before looking away, he mouthed to her, “ _I’m sorry_.”

She closed her eyes just as she heard the stomach-churning, unmistakable crunch of bones. And then the scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I restructured my chapters, so this is actually an extension of what had previously been included in Chapter 4. I'm sorry if it's a repeat for anyone, and I will try to put the next chapter up ASAP. 
> 
> THANK YOU for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He picked up the 12-gauge that lay idle on the concrete. Will stared at him, no remorse in his eyes. “I told you,” he said, just barely a whisper. “You didn’t have to do this.”

**Day 0 – 3:35AM**

**Middle of Nowhere, South Carolina**

 

Will knew the leader of that vile group of Neanderthals was infected. It was the eyes. He had colorless, hollow chasms where his eyes should have been, just like the young man in the elevator. Sure, there were other indicators. But those _unnatural_ , cloudy, lifeless eyes could not be mistaken, and Will would be haunted by them for the rest of his life.

He also knew that the man wielding the shotgun was not proficient in the firearm. He watched where his fingers gripped the slide, lacking familiarity, ill at ease. When he had aimed the shotgun at him, the back end hovered in the air instead of nesting into his shoulder – evidence that he had likely never even fired the weapon live.

It surprised Will how easy it was, disarming him. Ducking quickly to his left, deflecting to the gunman’s dominant side, he dug his thumb into the attacker’s wrist with one hand while his other wrapped around the cool barrel of the shotgun. As he shifted the weight of the gun between his hands, Will raised the butt of the shotgun, slamming it against his temple, his skull crunching under the strength of the blow. In a matter of seconds, the once-brazen leader wilted to the ground, writhing and screaming out in pain as blood seeped generously from the caved-in wound on the side of his head.

For good measure, Will lifted the gun over his head with a strained grunt and let it drop like dead weight, aiming for the same vulnerable spot. _Bulls-eye_.

Hannibal had little trouble subduing the fatter man, as he had already armed himself with the sleek, curved harpy knife that was hidden in his pocket. The older man swiftly parried and spun behind him, connecting the blade to his jugular and sliced it open with ease, leaving the bearded man rasping and choking back a wet, gurgling cough as he hit the ground.

After the bearded man hit the concrete, Hannibal turned just in time to see the third assailant lift the iron rod over his head, bringing its full weight into Will’s back from behind, his ribcage producing a cracking sound under the force. Will groaned and cried out in pain at the impact, falling to his knees, staggering, unable to bring himself back to his feet.

Just as the scrawny man raised the tire iron again, aiming for Will’s head, Hannibal lunged for him with predatory speed, sinking the knife into his belly, pushing it deep and splitting him wide open. His eyes widened in shock as he looked down to see his bowels spilling before him, blood blackened by the night, glistening and emptying onto the pavement. Hannibal smirked triumphantly, satisfied, as he watched him crumble to the ground.

“ _Fuck_!” Will shouted, more like a growl, still cowered over in pain from the impact.

“Careful, Will,” he said as he rushed to his side, offering a hand to help him to his feet. “Likely have a few broken ribs,” he added.

Will batted him away. “You think?” he hissed, slowly straightening to his feet, wincing and grimacing through the pain.

A raw, gravelly moan sounded from beside them. Will was surprised to see that the shotgun-wielding asshole was still alive – barely. The wound to his head was deep; specks of white bone mixed with the exposed, raw flesh and blood pooled next to him, only trickling now. As the man let out another strained groan, Will made a face of distaste as he examined the wound from afar, tilting his head from side to side.

He picked up the 12-gauge that lay idle on the concrete. Will stared at him, no remorse in his eyes. “I told you,” he said, just barely a whisper. “ _You didn’t have to do this_.” He growled through the pain as he smashed the end of the shotgun against his head and the noises ceased for good. Hannibal stood quietly, watching. Always observing.

A weak, exasperated whimper sounded from behind them, and Will suddenly remembered Abigail. He turned and limped hastily to her, allowing the shotgun to drop to the ground. She stood frozen, still, and Will wrapped his arms around her, tucking her into his chest, though she did not reciprocate the embrace. She trembled, still in shock, her breathing not yet steadied.

“Abigail, are you hurt?” he asked, trying to focus her attention. She shook her head back and forth, darting her eyes away from Will’s.

“I’m sorry,” she said meekly. Tears pooled in her eyes as she looked to Will. “I didn’t see them, I’m sorry …”

Will squeezed her close, shushing her. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said gently as she turned into his shoulder, accepting the comfort. “You’re okay, you’re okay …” he repeated softly as he rocked gently with her.

“I’m okay,” she repeated quietly, nodding her head, trying to make it true.

As Will comforted Abigail, he saw Hannibal from the corner of his eye taking care of the bodies. He was dragging them one by one – with great ease, really – to a dark corner next to the empty building. When she finally seemed calm, Will stepped away and looked her over. “Gonna make it?” he asked with a slight smile.

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Really.” She sighed heavily and turned toward the store, looking reluctantly at the abandoned building. “You think they have a bathroom in there?”

“Let’s find out,” Will said. He called out to Hannibal and informed him they were checking out the store, but he voiced that he would stay outside, opting to continue the clean-up. Will suspected that more than anything, he wanted to keep pilfering through their belongings to take what might be useful. 

“I’ll go in first,” he said firmly. He grabbed the shotgun, limping his way to the entrance with gritted teeth, and reached his hand through the already-broken glass to open the door. It was largely uneventful, as someone (probably multiple someones) had already pillaged through the store, taking most of the non-perishable food and supplies. But the bathroom was surprisingly tolerable.

While she was busy, Will looked around the store, grabbing whatever odds and ends he could justify taking. He found a couple stashes of candy hidden underneath a fallen sign and made an embellished victory gesture with his fist in the air. “Snacks for the road?” said a voice behind him, and Will jumped with a gasp, immediately starting to shout in agonized pain from his injuries, as Hannibal came into his sight.

“ _God dammit_ ,” he said gruffly, wincing in obvious discomfort. “Why would you sneak up on me like that?” He gave Hannibal a disapproving side-eye while he stuffed his pockets with the candy stash.

Hannibal choked back a laugh. “I did no such thing, Will,” he said with a touch of humor, “ _you_ were too pre-occupied with your treasure hunt to hear me call for you.” Will shook his head and raised an eyebrow as if to indicate he didn’t really believe him. Abigail appeared suddenly from around the corner, looking slightly less peaky than she did before, but her posture still sagged with fatigue. They let her take the lead and escorted her back to the car.

“Abigail,” Hannibal said, “Will and I need to tidy up a few details, if you don’t mind waiting in the car for us.” She shrugged and nodded agreeably, taking up her spot in the backseat as Hannibal closed her in.

The two men walked wordlessly back to the scene of the action, well out of ear’s reach from the car. Will didn’t want Abigail to hear any of their conversation.

“Will …” Hannibal started to speak.

“I get it,” he interrupted, firmly but somehow tender. He looked down at the concrete, averting Hannibal’s eyes. “I know you were baiting those guys.”

Hannibal stood quietly for a moment, thinking. “Yes,” he replied calmly.

“I know you were trying to draw their attention to you, to keep them from finding Abigail.” Hannibal nodded his head, but stayed silent, sensing Will had not yet made it around to his point.

“What I don’t get, though, _Dr. Lecter_ , is why you’re so fucking good at _killing people_.” Their silence lingered heavy in the cold air, a labyrinth of mysteries standing between them, as Will stared contemplatively at the doctor. 

Hannibal cleared his throat. "You know my studies in medicine provided me with extensive knowledge of the human body," he said lazily, as if even _he_ were aware of how shoddy an excuse it was.

Will allowed a rare moment of unyielding eye contact, as his mouth turned into a mocking smile. " _Try again,_ " he said.

Hannibal sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a crinkled pack of cigarettes. He pinched one out so it jutted over the opening and offered it to Will, who promptly turned his nose up. “Oh you _smoke_ now?” he spat out, adding an annoyed scoff.

Hannibal chuckled. “Will, I know you’ve had a very long day,” he started, pausing to add, “do you mind?” as he looked down to the lone cigarette.

“Of course not, _enjoy away_ ,” he said bitingly, adding a flippant shrug of the shoulders.

He lit the cigarette with a lighter from his pocket, and Will wondered if there was anything Hannibal didn’t carry around in there. Maybe he had a katana hidden underneath. Or a collection of ancient scrolls. _Who the fuck even knows with him_. He was like a human Swiss-army knife, except all of his hidden components were just creepy and disturbing. ( _Okay, some were occasionally useful_ , he conceded.)

“I took this off the fat one,” he said, cool and even as he exhaled a long puff of smoke. “Just one left, I thought it might be appropriate.” He offered the lit cigarette again to Will, who raised a hand to refuse.

“It’s no secret that I take pride in many things, Will,” he said, sucking in a long drag of the cigarette. He exhaled it slowly, watching the smoke billow around in the night air. “I exercise regularly, I am trained in self-defense, and, as a creature of habit, I have refined these skills to near perfection over the years.”

Will listened, but looked skeptical. He narrowed his eyes at the doctor as he extended a hand, gesturing for the lit cigarette. Hannibal smiled as he slid it between Will’s fingers, watching appreciatively as he brought it to his lips.

As Will breathed in the smoke, it burned his lungs and he tried to stifle the inevitable series of coughs that came out as he exhaled. It felt like a lifetime since he’d quit smoking, but the buzzy, lightheaded rush still settled in like a long-lost friend. He handed it back to Hannibal.

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” he said finally.

Hannibal shrugged as he took another puff. “I don’t expect you to believe anything other than what you see with your own eyes, Will.” He passed it back again.

This time Will inhaled a long, indulgent drag, appreciating the familiar, if not juvenile, comfort. “Just talking in circles again, _Doctor_ ,” he mused softly. He tapped the cigarette lightly, knocking away the ash, and was pleased to have not broke into another coughing fit this time. When he handed it back, it was nearly done.

“You’ll see,” he said earnestly, his eyes shifting to the side, which Will noted was a rare deflective gesture for the older man. He puffed one last hit from the butt and stamped it out under his shoe.

“Well,” Will said reluctantly, pausing to embellish the need for Hannibal’s undivided attention.

“Yes?” he responded finally, eyebrows creased in curiosity.

“We need to talk about the vehicle,” he said, glancing at the psychiatrist. Hannibal swallowed hard, his posture stiffening as he pursed his lips as if thinking of how to phrase his thoughts.

“Listen, _Hannibal_ ,” Will said, biting and hanging on his name, “You told me to trust you. _I did._ ” He paused for a long, dramatic silence. “Then you drugged me. You robbed me of my _choice._ ”

Hannibal tried to interject but Will silenced him with a quick wave of his hand. “Let _me_ talk this time,” he said sternly. The older man raised his eyebrows, a little surprised, albeit impressed, at Will’s new tone.

“ _You don’t_ make my choices for me,” he said. He looked expectantly at Hannibal until he relented a quick nod. “Now, the car ...” Hannibal winced and wrinkled his nose, but suppressed the urge to argue.

“We’re taking that truck, Hannibal,” he said, determined and ready to defend himself. “It’s a good truck, same engine as the motors I fixed at the boatyard.”

He couldn’t help himself. “It’s ancient, Will,” Hannibal argued, trying to show restraint as he bit down on his lip to keep from going on.

“It’s got a _Cummins_ , it uses diesel, which they seem to have an abundant supply of back in the bed, it’s practical _and_ it’s safer for us.” Will had a particularly stubborn resolve about him as he gave his speech, hands flailing emphatically as he listed his evidence. 

“And what of my vehicle, as it seems you’re in no condition to drive with your broken ribs, considering you can hardly stay upright.” He fought the urge to be angry because he knew Will was right, it was logical. He just _really_ loved that Bentley.

“I don’t care, it’s fucking useless can’t you see that? We almost got fucking _murdered_ because of it.” Will looked at Hannibal like a petulant child, incapable of understanding why he shouldn’t stick his finger in the electrical outlet, even after being shocked.

“Seriously? You can’t comprehend that?”

Hannibal exhaled a long, unhappy sigh and though he desperately wanted to roll his eyes and chastise him for being melodramatic, he didn’t. He relented with a nod, gesturing for them to make their way over and he followed behind Will as they prepared for the last leg of their journey.

Will grabbed the shotgun as he headed back to the car to grab their things, and Hannibal grabbed the tire iron.  
  
“What about the bat?” Will asked.

“Leave it,” Hannibal replied coldly, “a brutish, inelegant thing. Leave it for a _brute_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, Madancy-inspired cigarette sharing. 
> 
> Thank you for the comments, please keep it up! I find it very helpful (and encouraging of course!) HUGS TO ALL!
> 
> Also, Lucille, is that you?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Hannibal tried to argue, Abigail interrupted. “I want to go with him,” she said.

**Day 0 – 4:58 A.M.**  
  
**U.S. Route 601**

  
They spent about an hour getting everything switched from Hannibal’s car to the truck. Hannibal, and even Abigail, complained and sulked as they gave up their comforts for the rustic utility of the pickup truck.

“Is there even a charging port in here?” Abigail asked, as Will threw her a blank, indifferent stare.

“Your phone probably won’t work anyways,” he said defensively, strapping down a container of items into the bed of the truck.

Abigail rolled her eyes and craned her neck away from him exaggeratedly. “Just want to listen to my music, that’s all,” she said, “sheesh.”

“Abigail, you’ll find this _antiquated beast_ to be lacking in many modern, convenient features, I’m afraid,” Hannibal answered, partly kidding, but somehow painfully serious. He and Abigail smiled at each other as Will exhaled a long, irritated sigh.

He continued to ignore both of them, which wasn’t difficult at all considering how much his head was pounding, now that the adrenaline had started wearing off from their earlier encounter. As he tried to lift Hannibal’s cooler into the bed of the truck, (because _of course_ Hannibal has a cooler filled with fresh groceries, Will complained) a sudden rush of dizziness overwhelmed him.  
  
“ _Will_!” Hannibal said, chastising him. “I told you not to pick that up – ”

Suddenly everything was black.

**********************************************************************

  
His next memory was Hannibal standing over him as he sat upright on the ground, propped up against the truck's tire. “Will, can you hear me?” the doctor asked patiently.

As his eyes focused, he started nodding his head. “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he said irritably. Except that he didn’t really _feel_ fine.

“Let’s get you into this _abomination_ of a vehicle,” Hannibal said with a smirk, bending down to help Will from the ground.

“ _Christ_!” Will growled, as Hannibal reached under his arms to lift.

He wanted to squirm out of the doctor’s grasp, but the pain he experienced was debilitating, and he could hardly focus let alone physically resist anything. His body tensed and he grunted and groaned as Hannibal moved him inside the vehicle. Abigail was already sitting in the middle cab seat, and not looking too happy about it.

“The Bentley at least had a backseat,” she said, trying to make him laugh, but obviously reconsidering after studying his strained, twisted facial expressions. She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the worry that spread across her face.

“Where does it hurt, Will?” Hannibal asked, giving him a cautious scan up and down.

Will faked a smile. “I think it’s the worst where I was struck with the _tire iron_ ,” he said, almost panting. Hannibal frowned, casting his disapproval from pursed lips.

“Thank you, Will,” he quipped back, and just as he moved to shut the door, Will lurched sideways and slung his head out the door, throwing up on the concrete. Hannibal managed to step out of the way, and miraculously most of it landed on the road. Though drowsy and nearly incoherent, Will still noticed the just-slightly-disgusted look on Hannibal’s face.

“See?” Will said, light breaths almost a whisper, “imagine if I’d puked on the Bentley.” Hannibal stifled a grin, shaking his head, before propping Will up against the headrest, situating him in the vehicle.

“We’ll get you someplace safe,” Hannibal said, jumping in the driver’s seat, looking to Will and then back to Abigail. “Both of you … soon enough.”

“Do … do you _really_ think he’s okay?” Abigail asked Hannibal, eyes wide and reluctant.

“He’ll be just fine,” Hannibal said, but his face was firm and unreadable, and Abigail just nodded her head absently. She adjusted her pillows and blankets to get situated, helping Will get as comfortable as possible also, and the three of them headed south once again. Will finally allowed Hannibal to share some of Abigail’s pain medicine with him after she insisted for the tenth time that she didn’t feel as bad as she did earlier. He was delirious, his insides screaming at him mercilessly, but once the oxycodone kicked in, Will’s eyes shut and he was able to fall asleep.

“How long until we get there?” Abigail said absently, awake from the excitement of activity, but apprehensive. This was the first time she had really felt lucid since waking up from the attack. And here she was, sitting with two grown (old) men that she didn’t really know – her only seeming hope for protection during the outbreak of an apparent epidemic.

“250 miles, or what would normally take four hours,” he answered plainly, turning his nose up at a whiff of the diesel smell. Abigail tried not to laugh at the sight – the refined, older doctor driving a beat-up, smelly truck that looked like it belonged in the Dukes of Hazzard. He looked as if his skin was crawling just from _sitting_ in the vehicle.

After a brief quiet period, Abigail spoke. “I’m sorry about your Bentley,” she said, sincere at first, but slowly turning into a slightly mischievous smile.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said as he glanced at her, an appreciative half-smile forming at his lips. He huffed an insincere laugh.

“I’m sorry about your _parents,_ ” he said, more sincere than she had been. Abigail nodded, and the two of them shared a twisted smile for just a brief moment before retreating into the silence along with Will.

 

* * *

  
**7:17AM**

**U.S. Highway 301**

Will awoke with a jolt, just as the truck came to an abrupt halt, the shrill squeak of tires echoing between his ears. His vision blurred and everything spun around, too bright and blinding, until finally the world began to focus.

“ _Shit!”_ Abigail yelled, as she was nearly propelled into the front dash but for the quick, protective shielding from Hannibal’s extended arm across her body.

Just up ahead, a semi-truck was turned on its side, off the highway a bit but it was still large enough that it had blocked the better of both lanes. Cars in front of them swerved off the road to avoid running over the debris that littered across the asphalt, little heaps of metal, bunched up as if they were made of nothing more than paper.

Their truck stopped just shy of a long beam, looking like the remnants of another vehicle’s bumper. Abandoned cars and trucks were becoming more frequent, and Will couldn’t even identify an open gap ahead of them to get navigate through.

“Abigail, that language is rather unbecoming for a young lady,” Hannibal said, edgy, but trying to remain calm. “I apologize for startling you both.”

“We’re good,” Will said, still kind of in a daze, slowly turning to Abigail to see if she really did look okay. She did.

“What’s happening?” he asked hazily.

“We’ve hit a bit of an impediment,” Hannibal replied curtly. “How are you feeling?” The doctor glanced in the rearview mirror, over to Will, and back to the mirror as if pondering a decision.

“Terrible,” Will responded without thinking, realizing he did _actually_ feel quite fucking terrible. “My back is on fire,” he said, wincing at words. His insides burned under his ribcage from the impact, hot and sharp, making each breath he managed cut through him like a knife.

“Will,” Hannibal said all too calmly, “I don’t wish to alarm you.” The doctor glanced to Will and then to Abigail reassuringly. “I believe you have injured your kidney,” he said, no trace of distress in voice.

“Well that’s _fantastic_ ,” Will grumbled, “Glad you’re unconcerned about it.”  
  
He tried to writhe around in his seat to ease the discomfort, but each move, no matter how slight, sent searing pain into his midsection. He gasped audibly as he finally settled back into his original placement.

“My main concern, Will, is navigating us around this obstruction,” he said emotionlessly. “Though incredibly painful, your injury is highly unlikely to be life threatening.”

He grunted a single, humorless laugh. “Well, that’s good to know,” he said, only able to pant his words at this point. Will felt the bile start rising again and did his best to will it away, causing a choking fit to take hold of him. Abigail leered at him skeptically, looking to Hannibal for reassurance.

A sudden, loud knocking caught all three of them off guard. Will winced as he turned to see the young man, dark skin and freshly-buzzed hair, pounding at his window. The daylight highlighted his features, making it impossible for Will to ignore the sheer terror coming from his eyes.

“ _Help_!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “ _Please, mister_!” His fists banged against the glass like a hammer, shaking the vehicle.

Will reached for the door handle but Hannibal jumped from the driver’s seat, leaping across, and grabbed at him.

“Will --- _don’t,_ ” he said, voice slightly raised. “He may be _infected_.”

“ _Jesus_ , Hannibal, he needs help,” Will said through his gritted teeth, but Abigail’s terrified face stopped him from acting, realizing that the doctor was indeed correct. He turned away from the young man, almost shamefully, who continued to pound on the glass, pleading.

Hannibal switched the truck back into gear, but before they could go anywhere, a gruesome noise caught their attention as the young man’s cries for help suddenly turned into a raw, terrible scream.

His face pushed against the glass from an unknown force and a sudden explosion of crimson splattered against the window, causing Will and Abigail to both jump from their seats, backing as far away as possible. Abigail screamed as she realized the thick, sopping mess of blood was pouring from the young man’s head.

Will expected Hannibal to drive off, at least move into the median, but as he turned to look forward, he saw the oversized, white SUV screeching to a halt directly in front of them. They watched the scene almost in slow-motion, as a burly man with wild, strawberry blonde hair jumped out of the vehicle wielding a large metal tool of some sort and ran full-speed toward their vehicle.

The new stranger gave a wild-banshee yell as he swung the cumbersome tool over his head and brought it down with a crack into the mess of bodies outside Will’s window. The first young man’s face slid torturously slow down the window, smeared with saliva and blood, making its way down the glass until his body gave way and made a loud thud as it hit the pavement.  
  
After he slipped down, another body fell down the same trajectory, appearing to have once belonged a woman, but now missing a chunk of skull where the metal had bludgeoned her head.

Behind them, the fair-haired, scruffy-bearded man stood victorious (looking rather impressed with himself) and offered an exasperated, but friendly wave.

“ _Holy shit_!” he yelled, to no one in particular, “ _THAT. Was CRAZY_!”

He appeared to be no more than 25 or 30, Will thought, but it was possible his facial hair made him look deceptively older. The SUV he drove sported the white-lined silhouette of a buck's head on the front windshield, proudly displaying his favorite sporting brand, which was no surprise considering the camouflaged hat he wore bore the same emblem. Will's dad used to call guys like him "good 'ole boys," when he'd been younger.

“Y’all okay?” he asked, raising his voice bombastically so that they could hear him inside the vehicle. “E'ryone okay in there?”

Will opened the door before Hannibal could protest, if only to rid the blood-drenched window from his immediate sight for a moment.

“We’re okay, thanks,” Will answered politely, adding a quick nod like an unspoken gratitude between the two men. The other man returned the gesture.

“Casey,” he said with a smile, stepping on top of the dead bodies to reach in and offer an introductory hand.

Will considered for a moment before meeting it and embracing the shake, despite the newest shock of pain that jolted through him at the motion. “Will Graham,” he said, gritting his teeth despite himself. “This is Abigail, and Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he continued, nodding to them respectively.

Casey looked them over and settled back on Abigail with a bit of uncertainty in his expression. “Ma’am,” he said with an inquisitive eyebrow, “you doin’ okay?”

Hannibal scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Of course she's fine, we should really – ”

“Come on, fellas,” Casey said, interrupting Hannibal, “it ain’t the 1920s, she can answer for herself, right?” Hannibal’s eyes narrowed at the man and his nostrils flared wildly.

“ _Oh_ ,” Abigail said, a little embarrassed and biting her lip, “I’m okay, he’s my uncle,” she said, casting a nod toward Will. “ _They’re cool_ ,” she said, meeting Casey’s eyes with a look of relaxed assurance, which he returned with a quick nod.

“Dr. uh, Lecter was it? I really apologize if I insulted you, just seen a lotta strange things lately,” Casey said, looking to Hannibal earnestly. “Gotta be careful …”

“Thank you, Casey,” the doctor replied coldly, “we truly must be on our way as we have now a great deal of time to make up for.” He glared at Will, doing his best attempt at mind-control to get Will to shut the door, but he ignored the psychiatrist.

“Wait, you can’t go _that way_ ,” Casey replied, motioning his arm toward the flipped semi-truck in their path. “Whole fuckin’ thing is shut down in that direction. _Fuckin’ disaster_. Even saw a couple fires about a mile ahead, gotta go around to the back roads, prolly through town’s the best way, if you know how.”

“Thanks,” Will said weakly, no longer able to hide the crippling pain, “we’ll figure it out.” He motioned to shut the door but Casey’s hand grabbed the metal frame to stop it.

“ _Dude_ , I _really_ don’t think you’re okay,” Casey said, his Southern accent seeming to thicken as the worry increased in his tone.

Will huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Well, _no shit_ , that’s why we’re getting out of here.” He groaned again as the pain shot fresh from his back, coursing through his body.

“You get bit?” Casey asked, backing away from their vehicle.

“No _, I didn’t get bit_ ,” Will snapped impatiently, “ I got hit with a fucking tire iron. Probably pissing straight blood,” he said with a flippant wave of the hand.

Cars had started to fill in around them suddenly. Hannibal grew more and more irritated with each passing moment, nervously glancing in the rear-view mirror. “We’re leaving,” he said, and without another warning he threw the truck into reverse, letting the tires run over the two discarded bodies as he navigated around Casey and the SUV.

Will tried to reach for the open, wildly swinging door but didn’t have the strength to pull it closed. Hannibal swerved suddenly to the left, the force of which caused the door to slam closed.

“Show off,” Will muttered, causing Abigail to giggle just a bit under her breath. She grew tense once again as Will started another coughing fit.

“Maybe we should stop to get him help,” Abigail said, looking meekly to Hannibal.

“We’re not too far away, and as soon as we reach our destination, we’ll get him rested and good as new,” Hannibal said, still searching in the mirrors and surveying their surroundings on high alert.

Hannibal was driving slowly around the cars and trucks that littered the roads, some empty, some with people. The traffic became too thick on the highway and though he tried to navigate in the median, it soon became too thick to proceed.

“Our exit is less than 100 yards,” Hannibal said, obviously annoyed with his miscalculation. “We’ll have to go back and try another route.”

Will just sat miserably with his head propped against one of Abigail’s pillows, suffering through each bump and uneven surface that bounced his body around. Occasionally he would let an audible moan escape, lest they forget how much pain he was in.

After another few minutes, Hannibal managed to turn himself around and head back north, although the road was just as congested. Perhaps because of the bloody display on the side of their vehicle, most of the other vehicles seemed to be avoiding getting too close to them, which allowed a slight gap to slide through the traffic.

He was eventually able to find a bit of an opening on the shoulder to get through for nearly a mile, but somehow became cornered between an abandoned caravan of cars and a bus. He took to muttering in a language neither Will nor Abigail could (or wanted to) decipher.

A barrage of honking echoed around them as the white SUV pulled into their view. Casey. Hannibal begrudgingly rolled the manual window down to allow him to speak.  
  
“I knew y’all couldn’t get through, _let me help_ ,” he said insistently. “ _He_ needs help. And quite honestly, I gotta friend back at home that could _really_ use a doctor.”

Though Hannibal tried to argue, Abigail interrupted.  
  
“ _I want to go with him_ ,” she said stubbornly ... and serious.

Will’s eyes fluttered open and closed, he could barely concentrate. He nodded with her, but didn’t seem to really know what she was saying.

Hannibal tried to argue. “Abigail, I think—”

“This _entire_ time, no one’s _ever_ asked me what I want” she said, firmly and raising her voice just enough that Casey could hear as well. “I’m tired, I’m hungry. And _LOOK AT HIM_ ," she yelled, turning to Will, who could no longer even focus his eyes. "I just _... I think we should go with him_ ,” she said, ending more gently with her tone.

Will lifted his head at the sound of her raising his voice. He put his hand on her shoulder in a calming, agreeable gesture, but he barely had enough energy to follow through on it.

“So be it,” Hannibal said, voice low and callous.

He followed the trail carved out by Casey’s giant, white SUV and they followed him down a small access road, curving down into the woods of Northern Georgia. The last thing Will remembered was gazing through the blood-sheened window at all the cars locked in a jam as they sped off into the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Will. 
> 
> This one chapter turned into a few chapters, so there will be a couple short ones and a long one. Very little editing happening so I am always appreciative when you all help me with the mistakes. 
> 
> Thank again to every one of you who has taken the time to read! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will stretched his arms above his head, feeling the burning soreness of his bruised ribs. “What happened to me?” he asked, trying, and failing, to suppress a yawn.
> 
> “You fainted,” Hannibal said, lifting a finger in the air to sign for him not to interrupt, “and ... this time, Will, that's a true statement.”

Will awoke in a thick fog of disorientation that created a fuzzy, white filter over everything in the room as he slowly moved his head from side to side, surveying his surroundings.

He thought he was overhearing some sort of conversation, but the voices had a warped, distorted sound, as if he were underwater. His eyes adjusted well enough for him to realize that he was in a bedroom, and definitely in someone else’s bed. Delicate, lacy sheets accented a florally pink quilt that covered him, and he looked around the room, noticing some distinctly old-fashioned décor, including a porcelain, waving cat figurine on the dresser. The furniture was all perfectly matched, made of a dark wood, maybe rosewood, Will thought, as he knocked his fingers against the headboard behind him.

He smiled to himself as he moved to prop himself up, but winced as pain shot up from his back. To his surprise, however, it was far more tolerable than it had seemed earlier, now feeling a little more sore and bruised rather than cut-it-out-of-me-excruciating like it was before.

As Will’s senses equalized, he realized the voices were not just down the hall, but also voices coming from some sort of broadcast. He wondered if they were watching a cable broadcast, if that was even still possible. Maybe things were better, he thought. Better yet, maybe this was all a fucked up hallucination, a twisted fever dream.

As he contemplated in silence, he heard footsteps coming to the door and turned to see Abigail stepping through the doorway. Her face lit up at the sight of Will, and he couldn’t help but grin in return.

“Hi,” she said meekly, her expression tinged with relief. “You passed out. I … I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry,” he said gently, half shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sorry to have frightened you like that.” She frowned and shook her head as if dismissing the thought.  
  
“We’re just glad you’re okay, that’s all,” she said. “Hannibal gave you medicine, he was _taking care of you_.” She was beaming at this, playfully embellishing her words, fighting a laugh from taking over.

“Oh boy,” he said, rolling his eyes, returning her sarcasm, chuckling a bit despite himself, as he embraced the lighthearted, albeit uncharacteristic, conversation with her. She giggled.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry!” she said overapologetically, “we’re at Casey’s house. Do you even remember meeting him?”        

“Yes, it’s a bit …” – Will paused to make a wavy motion with his hands – “hazy.” Abigail laughed.

“Well, we’re at his farm house,” she continued, rambling rather cheerfully. “Specifically in his _grandmother’s_ room ... obviously.” She looked toward the kitten statue and gave it a skeptical look, and Will nodded along playfully.

“He’s got a generator,” she continued, “and we can still watch the news. But power’s not even out here, anyways, 'cause it’s spreading quicker in some places I guess, Hannibal was saying that, and, oh! Casey’s friend was hurt, so Hannibal helped them, too. You’ve been out for hours …”

"Okay, _slow down there, Seabiscuit_ ," He said with a laugh, motioning his palms up at Abigail. “How long?” he asked, realizing he was suddenly nervous to have asked.

“Six hours, maybe?” she said, looking for a clock in sight, finding one on a far wall with different little birds as the time markers. “You’ve slept from … eight-ish, or cardinal, o’clock until um, two-thirty, or sparrow thirty.” He sighed long, giving way to a laugh and threw a nearby, wadded piece of paper at her, but she knocked it away skillfully, giggling back at him.

“Good afternoon, Will,” said a voice from the hallway.

Will turned his attention to Dr. Lecter and nodded an acknowledgement as he walked in, taking up the side next to his bed. Before he could speak, however, another figure appeared in the doorway.

“Will Graham!” the voice boomed, echoing off the walls. Casey was all smiles as he threw a victorious fist in the air. “I knew you’d fucking make it, dude,” he said, way (way) too enthusiastically. Will winced at the loudness of the intrusion.

“At _no time_ have I indicated that Will would ‘not make it,’ Casey,” Hannibal said flatly, casting him a serious side-eyed glare.

“Easy, doc,” Casey said, his voice smooth and strangely calm. He gave the psychiatrist a rough, but playful pat on the back, and smiled at Abigail knowingly as the doctor predictably turned to scold him with his burning eyes. “I’m just jokin’ around … tryna lighten the mood a bit,” he said, extra innocently, and Hannibal seemed content to let it go, returning his focus to the patient.

“Alright, alright,” Casey said through a sigh, “I’ll leave y'all to it, just good to see ya awake.”

He turned to leave and headed back down the hallway. Abigail waved her hand at Will and followed him out the door.

“She seems to be … rather happy?” Will said once they had safely exited, raising a questioning eyebrow toward the doctor.

“Yes," Hannibal said, "Abigail had a lengthy sleep earlier, and, ‘accidentally’ as she says, took an extra dose of her pain medicine upon awaking.” Hannibal frowned, eliciting a skeptical look from Will in return.

“So,” Hannibal continued, “She has become especially energetic and chatty, and, as it would be, the _ginger one_ never seems to stop talking.” His face was dangerously grim as he spoke the words, but as soon as Will started laughing, he smiled wide and joined in on the laughter.

“You kept me alive to save you from them?” Will asked, somewhat giggling as he spoke the words, wincing a bit at the lingering pain.

“Not exactly,” Hannibal said. “But it’s not exactly _untrue_ , I suppose … ”

“Well, glad I made it out alive,” Will said absently, not thinking about his choice of words until after he said them, and he paused to consider their validity.

“Are you _really_ glad, Will?” Hannibal asked, his face turning almost dramatically serious as he spoke.

“Sure, I guess … ” Will answered with a shrug, purposely avoiding a committal answer, and began to twist and fidget in the bed, testing his body’s current range of motion. Hannibal's eyes narrowed, unsatisfied with his response.

"I suppose," Will said, the words slowly dripping off his tongue, "it's moderately better than the alternative." He raised his brows in acquiescence, as if it were the best answer he was capable of giving. Hannibal was unimpressed, but seemed to accept it without argument.

"I happen to agree," he said mildly, almost quiet.

Will stretched his arms above his head, feeling the burning soreness of his bruised ribs. “What happened to me?” he asked, trying, and failing, to suppress a yawn.

“You fainted,” Hannibal said, lifting a finger in the air to sign for him not to interrupt, “and ... _this time,_ Will, that's a true statement.”

“Oh, _fuck you_ ,” Will said sharply, but obviously trying to suppress a laugh, “you think you’re _so_ fucking funny, don’t you?” Will was rolling his eyes, but clearly not as angry as he wanted to be. A disjointed laugh broke its way through, and Will shook his head, breath slipping into a long sigh.

Hannibal looked down at him with feigned annoyance. “I must confess, Will, I do believe I possess a _particularly_ superior sense of humor,” he said with a quick wink.

 _Ugh_ , Will thought. “Get over yourself, _Dr. Lecter_.” His childish grin betrayed the harsh words, however, and Hannibal was quite pleased to see it. He wanted to hide his amusement, be less transparent, but he was feeling strangely grateful for the doctor's company at the moment.

“Your kidney was injured by the tire iron, Will,” Hannibal said, emotionless, but speaking slow and clinical. “It was building up fluid, so I had to … remove that.”

"Oh, God," he said, panic rising from his chest. “ _YOU REMOVED MY KIDNEY_?” Will shouted, each word progressively louder than the one before it.

Hannibal pretended to look puzzled as he thought over his words, finally letting his eyes brighten as if having an epiphany. “Oooh,” he said, smiling, “I apologize, Will. I simply meant I removed the excess fluid from your kidneys.” His grin was absolutely triumphant, and he broke into a steady chuckle.

“Your kidney took some damage but did not rupture, it will likely be fine with some rest.” His eyes were reduced to slits as he still gleamed at Will.

Will growled with aggravation, casting him a perfectly dramatic glare. “Has anyone ever told you before that you’re a complete _dick_?” he asked, snappy and acerbic.

“Yes, _actually,_ ” Hannibal said plainly, “a student once, after receiving a failing evaluation.” He smiled thoughtfully at the memory. “Turns out he was _quite_ bitter, unfortunately.”

Will narrowed his eyes at the doctor, staring at him with burning curiosity. He had a hard time understanding how he could feel so inexplicably comforted, yet simultaneously infuriated by the same individual, sometimes even at the same exact moment. Like right now. Will sighed.

“You’re a strange man, Dr. Lecter,” he said finally.

Hannibal huffed a single laugh. “You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter - but I will update a few at a time. I'm bad at separating the chapters as I go, so it seems I've been adding 2-3 chapters at a time instead of 1/week like I planned. Not sure why, but seems to always work out this way! Eeeeeek! Forgive me.
> 
> Slow burn Hannigram is killing me! I am not very patient.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re safe, for the moment, you have to see that,” Will countered, coaxing him. “I’ll keep watch, I promise I will wake you up if anything happens. We’ll eat, be rested, and we’ll leave first thing in the morning,” he said, looking expectantly to Hannibal, waiting for an answer.

By the time Hannibal had given Will his pain medicine and some food to keep his stomach from turning, it was late afternoon.

Will got dressed in his freshly-washed clothes and found himself inexplicably embarrassed at the notion of Hannibal undressing him. He pushed away the thought miserably, knowing it was an unbelievably childish thing to be concerned about, especially now.

Once he began to move around, he found that though he was quite stiff and his ribs ached at him naggingly, he actually felt very much improved. 

He slowly made his way down the hallway, entering the living area. The colonial-style house was prevalent in the south, and Will had been in many like it before. The wooden floors were worn and scuffed, and off-white, frilly curtains covered the windows. The sitting area and kitchen was broken up by the changing of wood to tile floors, with a large, oak dining room table on the far side of the room under a large, quaintly-rusted chandelier. It looked like the showroom for a hip antique store, mixing rustic and modern accents throughout.

Everyone gathered around the flat-screen television in the living room, Abigail and Casey sitting on opposite ends of a glossy leather couch. Hannibal stood behind them taking in the news, and suddenly Will realized there was another person sitting in the room.

A young woman sat in a reclining chair, her foot freshly wrapped in a cloth bandage, propped up on the retracting cushion. Her brown eyes turned warm, crinkling the corners of her olive skin, as she greeted Will.

“Hello,” she said, offering a slight wave. “I’m Marta. Casey’s ... friend.” Her tongue just barely clipped her words when she spoke, revealing the trace of an accent. Her long, dark hair was pulled up in a bun, with messy tendrils falling delicately around her face.

Will moved over and offered his hand. “Will,” he said, still a little unsteady on his legs.

He looked to her injury. “Are you okay?” he asked her. 

“She’s good now, thanks to _your doc_ ,” Casey said, looking to Hannibal with a grin. Hannibal merely nodded in response, shrugging off the compliment, but obviously pleased nonetheless.

“Broke her ankle in a fall,” Casey added, scrunching his nose at the memory. "Saw the bone 'n all, it was gnarly. But he bandaged her up and put her back in place, so she oughtta be a'ight now." Casey drawled out the words, appearing to be quite sincere in his gratitude.

Will made a sympathetic face at Marta.

“I don’t remember much, honestly,” she said, absently flipping her hands as she spoke. “It happened very fast.”

He nodded. “Trust me, I know the feeling."

"So," Will said, motioning his head toward Hannibal with eyebrows raised in dubious concern, " _this_ guy tell you he was a surgeon?"

Marta answered only with a look with expectant apprehension, awaiting his punchline, with a smirk on her lips.

Will shrugged his shoulders ambivalently. "He’s really _just a psychiatrist_.” Will gleamed at Hannibal, meeting his furrowed glare with a full-bodied laugh, the force pushing against his aching insides, as he pressed a hand against his back to will away the pain. “It’s a _miracle_ he didn't cut it off,” he said as his laugh gave way to a wincing sigh of discomfort.   
  
Marta laughed politely with Will, but shushed him with a wave of the hand. Hannibal scowled at him through narrow, golden eyes and shook his head in disapproval.

They stood quietly for a moment while everyone turned their attention to the news. The feed was a bit grainy, and the sound seemed to be cutting in and out. The headline underneath read only: _STATE OF EMERGENCY_.

“Guess things have not improved?” Will stated rhetorically, joining Hannibal’s side to stand behind the couch. No one answered, but Casey and Abigail shrugged in response.

“Europe’s _fucked_ ,” Casey said, shaking his head. Hannibal winced at the language and sighed heavily, looking to Will as if complaining about what he had been putting up with. Will returned it with a distinctly _un_ sympathetic side-eye.

“And China,” Abigail chimed in.

Hannibal cleared his throat, impatient with their lackluster analysis. “Communication blackouts are happening globally,” he said, calmly explaining. “We do not know for sure, but it appears Europe and Asia suffered the quickest effects of the virus.”

“Spread faster in dense populations,” Marta added. "Obvious, I guess."

Will thought for a moment and then swallowed hard. “No foreseeable cure?”

Everyone looked away or at their feet, but Hannibal turned to Will. “This an entirely unique, highly-evolved virus, Will. So far it has killed every scientist who has been publicly working on a treatment.”

“ _Christ_ ,” he whispered under his breath.

“The hospitals are all shuttin’ down,” Casey said. “We found that out the hard way.” Marta shook her head as if painfully pushing the thought away.

"Yeah?” Will asked, walking circles around the room now, looking only to Casey. "What happened?"

Casey sighed, long and heavy, and stood from the couch to face Will. He adjusted his ball cap nervously, taming wild curls back into place, trying to decide where to begin.

“Night before last, just a normal night, ya know? We were celebrating my good friend, John’s, promotion. That’s uh, Marty here's fiancé,” he said, looking to her as she avoided his eyes.

“So, John just got back from a business meetin’ in Atlanta and was all excited, so we all went out for drinks at our local place, _Pulleys_. Beer, pizza, wings, you know the type.” Will nodded as Casey paced circles around them as he spoke.

“Once we all got there, maybe 5 of us, John kept complainin’ about a headache, and then a fever, and after a while we just decided to close our checks and take ‘em home. He really ain’t the type of guy that complains much.”

“Other guys left and I drove him and Marty, but we didn’t get a block before he starts coughin’ up something crazy and just lookin’ like complete ... _shit_ ,” Casey said, no longer carrying the playful tone in his voice; he was completely somber and cold, blankly staring at his feet.

“His eyes,” Marta said softly, holding back tears, “his eyes, they just sorta … faded.”

Will remembered the elevator, the monstrosity that attacked Alana. Those vile, jaundiced eyes … He shivered away the thought.

“Obviously I drove to the ER as quick as I could, but _shit_ … he was so _fucking_ sick, I couldn’t. I didn't _... know what to do_.” He stopped, completely forgetting his words as he tried to recount the events. He rubbed his fingers through his beard, thinking.

“It’s okay,” Will said kindly, offering a hand to his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Casey sniffled a little. “Thanks, man, I appreciate that.” He bounced his shoulders up and exhaled, trying to find his resolve.

“I drove to the hospital, but he was already throwin' up everywhere, like I said. _Terrifyin’ shit_ , I’m telling you … blood, thick, gross stuff all over the place.” Marta trembled and looked away, now wiping tears from her face.  
  
Abigail made a disgusted face, recalling the dead guy from the elevator and his putrid smell, like a potpourri of body fluids.

Casey was still pacing as he spoke. “After the last coughing fit he just … stopped moving. I barely got to the hospital, man, and jumped out and tried to wake him up, but nothin’ … I grabbed him, fucking dead weight, and, _goddammitall_ , Marty had to help me grab his legs and drag him to the entrance…”

“When we got to the entrance, we noticed a buncha policeman guardin' the doors. They kinda lined up when we tried to get in,” Casey said apprehensively, unsure if anyone was believing his portrayal of the story. To his surprise Will, Abigail, and even Hannibal were glued to his words, so he continued with a little more confidence.

“Marty was cryin’, obviously, I was a fuckin’ mess, too, but they just stared at us. We said he was real sick and needed a doctor, and they just said they couldn’t let us inside. We asked why, and they said it wasn’t safe. I asked for who? They said … _for anyone_.”

“I mean, we _begged_ ‘em, _let us in, please_ , our friend is dying. Marty cried. I just kinda dropped to the ground, tired I guess from carryin’ him around. They told us to go home but we just sat there, _fuckin' dumbfounded_.”

“So. I moved him to the sidewalk, and Marty sat on a concrete bench out front. All the sudden something knocked me back on my ass, and _John_ , he _got up_ , and he fucking took off for Marty, man. Scariest shit I ever seen.”

Marta fought back streams of tears now as Casey recalled the events, nodding her head occasionally to validate his story.

“Knocked her off the bench, growled and made these awful noises, I mean, he tried to fucking _bite her face off_ , I swear to god,” he said, his breath was uneven now, almost frantic. “ _Thank fuck_ she kicked him off, ‘cause the officers stepped in before I even got on my feet.”

“That’s when they shot him,” she said quietly. “In the head.” The room fell silent for what seemed like an eternity.

“I’m sorry, Marta,” Will said at last, and Hannibal nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” she replied with a noncommittal shrug. “It hardly seems real.”  
  
“They called someone on their walkie-talkies and wouldn’t even let us take ‘em home,” Casey said softly. “We just had to watch as these guys in white suits took him, like fucking _E.T_.”

Hannibal had his finger placed thoughtfully on his chin. “It’s quite surprising that they didn’t take you,” he stated, “if they’d been following proper protocol you would both be in their custody.”

Casey looked at Hannibal with a dumbfounded, ‘are you serious’ kind of look and Will followed with a similar scowl.

“It’s certainly _fortunate_ that you are here,” Hannibal said, clarifying his thought to sound less insensitive, “and you’re lucky to be alive, that’s all I meant.” He shrugged, giving his best attempt to be sympathetic. Will looked at him with a hint of embarrassment, but merely sighed.

He noticed Hannibal was almost entirely propping himself up against the back of the couch. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than he’d ever seen, and now that he was paying attention, his skin was uncharacteristically pale.

“Hannibal,” Will said skeptically, “when was the last time you slept?”

“I assure you, I'm quite fine, Will,” he said dismissively, lifting his nose to the air as if he'd been insulted.

“Already tried,” Casey butted in, his bouncy tone somewhat returning, “Doc don’t _trust us_ enough to sleep around here.” He chuckled as he looked back at the doctor.

Marta huffed in her chair. “ _Casey,_ ” she scolded, shooting him an angry look.

“ _What_?” he asked innocently, looking around the room, oblivious.

“He always does that,” she said disparagingly, looking to Hannibal, “I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter.” Hannibal smiled at the young woman, appreciating the ease of her courtesy.

“ _What do I always do_?!” Casey demanded.

“Deflect with humor, especially when it’s serious,” Marta replied curtly. “ _Inappropriat_ e humor,” she said, putting particular emphasis on that first word.

Casey looked to Will who shook his head, not taking a side, and then to Abigail, who giggled and shrugged. “You’re a _little_ inappropriate,” she mused with a smile, as gestured with her thumb and forefinger as she said ‘little.’

Hannibal and Marta both smiled at Abigail’s response and Casey’s embellished look of exasperation.

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Casey huffed, “guess I'll just keep my mouth shut, then.”

“Music to our ears,” Hannibal said lightly, eliciting a laugh from everyone in the room except Casey, who begrudgingly wandered upstairs as he turned to give everyone a lingering look of betrayal.

Will turned to chase him, but Marta shook her head. "Let him go," she said with a faint smile, "he's fine." Will nodded, casting a skeptical glance at the younger man as walked off.

“You have to sleep, Hannibal,” Will said, after Casey disappeared up the staircase. “I know it’s been over twenty-four hours since you’ve really rested.”

Hannibal averted Will’s eyes. “If we leave now, we can make it just before dark, we have just enough time, and I can rest when we arrive.” He didn't even really seem convinced of his own words as he stood idly, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“We’re safe, for the moment, you have to see that,” Will countered, coaxing him. “I’ll keep watch, I promise I will wake you up if anything happens. We’ll eat, be rested, and we’ll leave first thing in the morning,” he said, looking expectantly to Hannibal, waiting for an answer.

Hannibal pondered silently as they stood next to one another. Every inclination told him not to linger. He wouldn’t dare feel at ease until he reached his destination, which was now just a measly 98 miles away. But Will was still weak, as was Abigail, and as much as he despised admitting it, he was _extremely_ worn out.

“We will leave _promptly_ at daylight,” Hannibal conceded, looking to Hannibal and Abigail. “You will _both_ benefit from the rest and a healthy meal.” His proud tone did not go unnoticed by Will, who shook his head at the unbelievable defiance.

“You need _sleep_ , Hannibal,” Will said, almost commanding, growing more impatient with each passing moment.

“ _Perhaps_ I will rest my eyes for a moment,” Hannibal agreed, finally, and sunk into the deep seat of the leathery couch. Will tossed him a nearby blanket from the chair, but Hannibal tossed it to the side, his last effort to resist the impending nap session.

Within minutes, however, Hannibal seemed to be fast asleep. Marta had also dozed off, leaving Abigail and Will to wander around the house. Will was grateful, at last, for the temporary quiet and he was content to aimlessly explore the corridors, looking at old family portraits that lined the walls. He saw photos of Casey and his apparent family: a mom and dad, and a regal looking Labrador that took center stage in all the family photos. Will smiled. 

Eventually he circled back to Abigail, sitting quietly at a barstool in the kitchen, and they figured they should look for Casey, curious as to whether he was still sore about earlier.

They headed up the short, narrow staircase, and found him inside the second door they chose, what must have been his bedroom. Childhood bedroom from the looks of it, as the walls were covered with Atlanta Braves banners and framed academic awards, some with gold stars bordering them. The twin bed still had jersey cotton sheets stretched across them with a solar system comforter.

“This is my parents’ house,” he said, looking up at them from the bed as if he knew what they were thinking about his childish decor. “They were … they’re _in_ Florida. I was just supposed to be watchin’ the farm for a week.”

“I’m sure they’re okay,” Will said, even though he knew he'd sound like a dick spouting off that cold comfort nonsense.

The power flickered on and off. They'd all heard on the news that power grids were crashing, so it was of little surprise to any of them.

“Right,” Casey said with a maniacal laugh, looking around the room. “We’re _allllll_ gonna be okay.”

He took his hat off and ruffled his hair between both palms, burying his face in his hands. Abigail sat beside him as the power finally flickered off for good. It was just light enough outside that the room was still illuminated.

“I just lost my parents ... I can understand how you feel,” she said, causing him to look up into her wide, blue eyes. “At least _you’re_ still here, in this lovely, dark room.” She offered a brief smile and patted him gently on the back. She encouraged him off the bed, which he allowed, but he stopped dead as he noticed something out the window.

“ _What the_ …”

They heard a loud, metallic squealing from outside and Will looked to Casey apprehensively.

“Someone’s opening the gate,” Casey said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple chapters more chapters of build and then we can get crazy! :) Stick with me, guys!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Abigail meet Casey's childhood friend, Gareth.

Casey opened the front door and a tall man with stick-straight hair appeared in front of it. He was roughly the same age as Casey, and appeared rather well put-together compared to the rest of them, with his fine, brunette locks even styled in place, draped sideways across his forehead.

“ _Gareth_ ,” Casey hissed, “what the fuck are you doing here, man?”

He let himself inside as Casey moved to the side. “Oh, _I’m sorry_ ,” the young man replied, snappy in tone, “I can’t stop by and visit my own friends?” He rolled his eyes impatiently.

“Usually a call, or a warnin’ of some sort would be nice,” Casey muttered back. “I mean, all things considerin’.” Gareth looked his friend up and down with the glaring judgment of a teenage girl.

“Phone lines are down, dumb shit,” he said caustically, “But next time I’ll make a fucking smoke signal, okay?”

The young man turned to Will, staring with an unimpressed lack of recognition, to which Will returned his look equally unenthused.

“Gareth, this is Will Graham,” Casey said, trying to keep his voice at a whisper as the others slept nearby. “Will, this is my long-time buddy, Gareth.” He nodded to each man respectively and they shook hands.

“And Abigail,” he said, nodding to the corner where she stood. Gareth’s eyes locked on her for a moment, unable to look away. He smiled for the first time since he entered the house and she smiled back timidly before looking away.

“Did you close the gate?” Casey shouted under the hushed tone, pushing Gareth’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Why are you talking like that?” he responded, ignoring the question. “You setting up a half-way house with these random people?” Gareth smiled at his own joke, lifting only one side of his mouth in a smirk.

“People are sleeping, _okay_? Man, John is _fucking dead_ ,” Casey snapped angrily, “and Marty’s gotta broken fuckin’ ankle, and this guy and his doctor friend helped me, just … shit’s crazy. _Don't be an ass_."

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Gareth said, more gentle now, “I’m sorry, I really couldn’t call. We’re not on the city’s power grid, remember? No power, no service.” His tone conveyed inconvenience more than panic, but was nevertheless attempting sincerity. “I’m sorry about John,” he said quietly.

“Well ... thanks,” Casey said, still visibly aggravated. “What’s going on … your mom okay? Hey, did you close the fucking gate, man?”

“ _YES_ , Casey, _I closed the fucking gate_ ,” he answered sharply. “Mom’s good, just restless, Internet and cable is gone of course, since the power is out. Told her I’d come see if you had your generator up, see what was up … if there was any news.”

“We just lost power,” Will stated, clearly noticing how riled up Casey was becoming at the barrage of questions. “Haven’t turned the generator on just yet.”

“Obviously,” Gareth said, unnecessarily.

“Yeah, _WELL_ …” Casey said, eyes wild and looking slightly unhinged as he took a deep breath, “It’s a _shit-show_ … here. Basically everywhere. I saw someone come _back_ to life and try to eat their fiancé’s face off, and apparently that’s ‘ _just what happens’_ to em.” His tone became almost frantic, rising in intensity with nearly every spoken word. "There’s more of the bastards every fuckin’ second of the day – _infected_ people. The diseased. The dead, the _un_ dead, biters, flesh monsters, shit-lickers, brain-dead-demon-fuckers, what _ever_ – and ain’t _no one_ figured out how to stop _any of it_!”

Heavy breaths rose and fell from his chest as Will, Abigail, and Gareth stood silently and looked at one another with wide, apprehensive eyes.

“We’re all _fucked_ , and _that’s_ the fucking news,” Casey said, ending his tirade with a fake, sardonic curtsy and paced around the kitchen, walking circles around all of them.

“Hey, man,” Gareth said at last, slow and calm, “I just wanted to check on you, that’s all.” He lifted his arms slowly, submissively, and gave him a quick, reassuring pat on the arm.

“ _I’m fine_ ,” Casey retorted, shooing away his hand, but rolling his eyes in a playful enough way that they knew he was becoming calm, and he finally stopped pacing. Gareth’s focus turned to something in the hallway. “What the _hell_ is that thing?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Casey followed his gaze. “Oh … my dad used it for work, when he volunteered on the weekends,” he said, moving to grab the object in question.

It was the same tool Will had seen him running with earlier as he attacked the presumably infected woman outside the truck window. He brandished it now, rolling it between his fingers so everyone could get a look. They took a slight step away from Casey as he examined his own weapon, crow-bar extending on one end, while the other had a long protruding spike, flanked by a curved bar of metal.

“Halligan bar, they call it,” he continued. “Firefighters use it to break down doors. Figured it’d make a good head-smasher, and I read online that’s what ya gotta do to take ‘em out.”

Will chuckled at the irony of their conversation, palming his face in disbelief. Casey commiserated with him, sighing out a laugh, and with it, seemingly his extra nervous energy. He put his weapon back against the wall, and shrugged apologetically at the group.

“You good?” Gareth asked, almost mockingly sincere.

“ _Course_ I’m good,” Casey said defensively.

“Good. Can you get the Internet when your generator goes up?” Gareth asked, suddenly in businessman-mode.

Casey shrugged. “I dunno, it was spotty before the power went out. Working for a sec and then gone again. News said some big servers have already been taken down for security purposes or some shit, ain’t a tech nerd like you, G.”

Gareth shrugged appreciatively at the compliment. “Everyone can’t be a genius, right?”

Casey rolled his eyes, grinning now. “I’ll go start the generator in a minute and see what happens.”  
  
“It was working about an hour ago,” Abigail said, acting uncharacteristically sheepish, Will noticed. Maybe the pain meds were wearing off, he thought.

“Oh,” Gareth said, looking to her with his full attention. “Have you read or seen anything useful?”

She shrugged. “A lot of YouTube videos of people getting attacked. People claim they’re dead … but not dead. Say you have to hit the brain stem, to um, stop them. Really kill them.”

Gareth nodded, making a disgusted face. “Well, s _hit_ ,” he said.

“ _Fucking_ shit,” Abigail said, nodding in agreement with a twisted smile as Will's eyes narrowed at her, casting disapproval over her use of profanity.

“Oh,” she said, remembering, “Also read that people were calling them ‘walkers,’ as in, when they come back to life … they just keep walking. That is, until they try to attack someone.”

“Genius, _really_ ,” Gareth said, rolling his eyes sarcastically, “almost as good as calling the damn thing _Wildfire_.” Abigail giggled a little in response to his biting commentary.

 _Ewww_ , Will thought, realizing the cause of her strange behavior, _she actually likes this guy_.

“Whatever _,”_ Casey said, “I’m making dinner, welcome to stay if you want, G.” Gareth nodded politely.

“ _One_ thing ...” Gareth added reluctantly, before Casey could turn to leave, his words heavy with a mysterious implication.

“What’s that?” Casey said, suspiciously eyeing his suddenly demure friend.

“I need … _a gun_ ,” he replied, absently biting his lip and twirling his fingers around one another.

Casey stared at his friend, expression totally unreadable to both Abigail and Will, who waited nervously as they watched the conversation. A sudden burst of laughter erupted from Casey and he nearly doubled-over in the outpouring of guffaws.

An irritated Gareth pursed his lips and looked around impatiently as Casey carried on, embellishing the laughter for effect. Finally Casey devolved into short, wispy breaths but just as he brought the performance to a seeming end, he started one last round of cackling. Will and Abigail both tried to stay neutral, suppressing their urges to let the laughter infect them.

“Are you done yet?” Gareth snapped.

Casey giggled gleefully. “Oh, no, you _crunchy_ , _tree-huggin’ sonofabitch_. No _fuckin’_ way am I done.” A smile spread across his face, radiating pure delight.

Gareth groaned loudly. “I _knew_ you’d be a dick about this,” he said scathingly.

Casey looked at him indignantly, then to Will and Abigail to make sure they were listening. “Comin’ from the guy who called me, _what was it again_?” he said, scratching his coppery beard and slowly turning his eyes upwards, pretending to recall the information.

Gareth shrugged and shook his head, and stared back at him blankly, biting against his own lips irritably.

“I think …” he stated, enunciating his words slowly, “A _gun-happy, redneck_ … _fascist_?” Casey squinted his eyes as if confused. “Was _that it_?, G”

“I don’t remember,” Gareth mumbled, looking away awkwardly.

“ _What was that_?” Casey asked again, patronizing him.

“What do you want me to say, Casey?” Gareth asked, emotionless.

“How ‘bout, ‘ _Gee, sorry I ran off to law school and turned into such a pretentious twat_ ’ for starters,” he answered, all too fast, as if it had been burning in his mind for far too long.

Will and Abigail stared silently, eyes wide, as they watched the conversation back and forth. Leaving would have felt even more awkward at this point, so they both remained still, as if their presence might be forgotten if they were silent enough.

Gareth sighed, defeated. “I’m not going to say that, and you know it.”

“But,” Casey said, continuing his thought.

“ _But_ …” Gareth said, “I _am_ sorry.” His fidgety body language hinted that he was not accustomed to apologizing, as his eyes wandered aimlessly, looking to make contact with anything but his friend’s.

“Half-ass apology if I ever heard one,” Casey grumbled, hooded eyes still glaring at his friend with frustration, but eventually he sighed, turning away as if to end the confrontation. “Lucky I ain’t an asshole like you, G,” he said as he started for the freezer, continuing to pull out a frozen package.

“Venison chili, if ya ain’t too good for it,” Casey said, only half-kidding. “You can stay for dinner, and then I’ll get your 308 from the basement.”

Gareth winced as if embarrassed, and added, “Um … Alex’s too?”

Casey turned to him with his brows raised, quiet sarcasm implied. “ _Yes_ , I’ll get one for your _dumb-ass brother_ , too,” he said gruffly. He continued to mutter to himself as he moved around the kitchen, getting things prepared for dinner before excusing himself to the basement to activate the generator, Gareth following behind.

Will exhaled, looking to Abigail with relief as they finally felt the tension diffuse from the room. They exchanged a look with one another before Will turned to the living room to check on Hannibal, seeing if he managed to stay asleep through the commotion.

To Will’s amazement, Hannibal was still soundly sleeping with his head tilted back, mouth slightly parted and just faintly snoring, but Marta was wide awake, staring at the blank TV screen.

“I'm actually kind of glad the power is out,” she said dryly, almost thoughtful. "Strangely peaceful."

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Will said, and on cue, the lights came on and the faint whirring sound of the generator buzzed into Will’s consciousness. He opened his palms and raised a single brow as if impressed with himself.

“You’re _good_ ,” she said, with an unimpressed roll of her eyes, giving way to the trace of a smile.

He returned her smile with a teeth-baring grin, realizing it was the first time he’d allowed that to happen since they left Baltimore. That thought alone sobered him back to reality.

“Was gonna step outside,” Will offered with a shrug, “care to join me?” Her eyes softened and she nodded, moving to pull in the reclining chair.

“Wait, let me,” Will said, awkwardly reaching to move the stool into its base. The pain in his back persistently nagged at him, but he was either healed enough, or more likely drugged enough, to ignore it. Between the two of them, they successfully managed to get her up and out, but she insisted on hobbling through living room on her own, allowing Will only to open the French doors to the patio.

“Gotta figure it out somehow,” she said, creating makeshift crutches with some wood scraps she found on the porch. She sat down on a rocking chair, as Will sat near her, on a white, wicker bench.

They sat silently for a while, as Will found comfort in the sound of the rocking chair squeaking against the wooden planks of the porch. So comfortable, in fact, that he nodded off, only waking when Marta suddenly cursed quietly to herself.

He looked up lazily, still a little groggy. “Everything okay?” he asked her.

She offered a quick half-smile. “Oh sorry,” she said, “Didn’t mean to wake you, just shifted my weight funny.” She fidgeted a bit in the chair, obviously unable to find a comfortable position, and finally lifted herself from the chair and moved next to Will on the bench.

“I wasn’t asleep,” he lied, smiling faintly.

“Suuure. Ah, that’s better,” she said with a long sigh. “I hate the seat of that damn rocking chair.” She sat back on the bench, propping her foot up on the nearby table.

“Abigail told me about your friend,” she said, finally, after a quiet silence.

Will didn’t even really know what to say about it. He hadn’t even allowed himself to think of Alana, let alone express it aloud.

“I’m really sorry,” Marta said, offering her hand on his own.

“Thanks,” was all he could produce, his voice cracking under the word.

“Was she your –”

“ _No_ ,” Will answered, interrupting before she could finish the question. “I’m too fucked up for any kind of relationship, she was just … she was, a friend, I guess.” _Colleague? Friend? Confidant? Who even knows_ , Will thought to himself miserably.

“It’s okay,” Marta said softly, “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.” She looked slightly embarrassed at how uncomfortable she had made him.

“She got bit, in the elevator,” Will said before he could stop himself, looking off into the distance absently, “and it was _so fast_. And then she left, made sure I got away safely. To help Abigail. And she went to _my house_ ,” he paused, choking up at his words. Marta offered her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“She took care of my dogs.” He fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. “Even sent me a picture. They looked … _happy_.”

Marta smiled kindly at Will, trying to meet his eyes. “She sounds like a wonderful friend.” He just shook his head in agreement, wiping his palms against his blurry eyes.

“ _You_ shouldn’t be consoling anyone,” he said with a deriding laugh, “I’m sorry.” He smiled appreciatively, however, because truly he was grateful for the company, and it felt good to talk about Alana to someone.

“Sometimes people just need to feel comfort,” she said, her voice warm and soothing, like a dryer-warmed blanket wrapping snugly around his shoulders. She took his hand in hers, and just briefly he allowed himself to feel the satisfaction of another’s touch against his skin.  
  
His thoughts suddenly shifted to Abigail, to Hannibal. He knew he’d spent a great deal of time out here with Marta, perhaps selfishly so. She must have sensed the shift in his thoughts, and she began fidgeting a bit in her seat as well.

“I should check on Abigail,” Will said, finally, as Marta retracted her hand with a nod and smile. “Thank you, for … listening.” He smiled awkwardly, looking away.

Before he could react, Marta leaned in and pressed her mouth against his, delicately, almost chaste, her soft, pillowy lips lingering for just a moment as if she was afraid of what would happen when she pulled away.

Behind them, Hannibal stared blankly out the French doors, watching the two of them on the wicker bench as he carried a tray of food between his hands. He stood silently as he watched them pull apart from one another, seemingly frozen in his unspoken thoughts, as he turned slowly and walked off in the opposite direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. We. GO! Now the fun shall begin. 
> 
> Also, I'm putting a lot of these chapters up quickly so please feel free to point out all my spelling/grammar errors. Or mistakes. Or anything. 
> 
> Thank you all. Everyone who comments basically makes my entire life so just know how much I appreciate every single word of feedback! Hugs, love. Thanks.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal confronts Will about his 'lack of vigilance'. (Sorry, not a euphemism. Yet.)

**6:16PM EST**

Marta retreated back to her corner of the bench, inhaling sharply. “Oh, _god_ , I’m so sorry,” she said, blushing. She put her palms against her cheeks, pressing them into her face, attempting to bury her humiliation.

“Hey,” Will said kindly, as he rose to his feet, “Like you said, people need to feel comfort.” He smiled as he reached an encouraging hand to Marta’s shoulder, trying to reassure her, but she pulled away gently. 

"Sure," she said, nodding. “I’m gonna walk over to the pond,” she said, gesturing across the field, actively avoiding Will's eyes.

The land was vast, and now that it was dusk, Will could hardly tell where the fence ran along the property, let alone see a pond. But a large, massively looming poplar tree jutted up from the area she had indicated, and he guessed it must be nearby.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Need some help?” he asked, withholding any real conviction from his offer.

“No … _please_ ,” she said shortly, slightly flustered, “just, let me. I’ll be fine.” She gathered her newly formed faux-crutches and carefully, but hurriedly, hopped down the porch stairs, steadying herself as she walked out into the grass. Slowly her silhouette faded into the distance, blending into the darkness.

He let out a long, winded exhale. An unsavory feeling lurched around in his stomach as he thought about Hannibal. And Abigail. He groaned loudly, a gravelly, languid song, as he turned to head inside.

*******************************************

**Earlier.**

Hannibal had stirred intermittently on the couch after sleeping soundly for the first hour, though he chose to remain camouflaged under the guise of  exhaustion, carefully listening to the conversations filling in around him. He first awoke to the sound of someone new in the house, a man named Gareth, which he soon determined to be a long-time acquaintance of Casey. They prattled back and forth, much to his disdain, arguing, and trading childish insults with one another, and although he tried to tune it out after assessing Gareth to be a non-immediate threat, their overtly hushed yelling grated against his nerves. But still, he appeared undisturbed. 

The young, Hispanic woman shifted about restlessly in her seat. He knew she was awake, but Hannibal was completely unmotivated to reveal any indication of his awareness. Only on the brief occasion of hearing the quieter voices of Will and Abigail did he even consider speaking up, but as the intensity of the conversation diminished, once again Hannibal found that he was drifting off, carried into a dark and dreamless sleep.

His conscious mind woke again as he heard Will talking softly with Marta, who rustled around in her seat, the joints of the recliner grinding shrilly as she pushed it in. The low rumble of a generator stirred his senses, and he was pleased to realize that the earlier fatigue that insistently clung to his bones seemed to have diminished. The clicking sound of a door handle preceded a long, whining squeal of a rusted hinge as Will and Marta walked outside together, shutting the glass-paned door behind them.

When he rose from his seat, he could see the two of them resting outside, Marta gliding back and forth on the rocking chair as Will slouched against the armrest of the battered, wicker loveseat, his head resting back against the frame. Hannibal stretched his neck from side to side and joined Abigail, who greeted him with a small smile, just as Casey and Gareth appeared from the basement, ascending into the kitchen, their conversation exploding in echoes against the wall.

Gareth walked out first, carrying a hunting rifle on his back and one between his hands. He held it with the unfamiliarity of a stranger holding someone else’s infant, his fingers restless and unstable, incapable of finding a comfortable hold along the length of the glossy, walnut stock of the Remington .308.

“Seriously, dude,” Casey bellowed. “Have you seen any of the videos of people shooting off guns around ‘em?”

"Ugh," Gareth sighed, irritated. “I haven’t been able to get on the Internet since I left Emory a few days ago, the farm is apparently in a fucking dead zone.”

"Well," he replied, slowly and a little dramatically, "they swarm you. So don't go round just shootin' shit for fun." Gareth narrowed his eyes at his friend, glaring with obvious disapproval. Casey smiled pleasantly at his annoyance.

Casey finally noticed Hannibal standing in the kitchen. “ _Mornin_ , Doc!” he said, enthusiastically.

“It’s nearly 6:00 in the _evening_ , Casey,” Hannibal responded pointlessly, helping himself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He offered a genuinely inauthentic smile as he looked up to the younger man. Casey shrugged it off, but Gareth smirked in spite of himself.

“It’s an _expression_ ,” he said flippantly, not really paying his attitude any mind, and continued, “This is my buddy, Gareth.” He nodded back to his friend as he moved around the kitchen, pulling out some bowls and utensils to ready their meal.

“Hello, Gareth,” Hannibal said, a bit coldly, “ _Dr. Hannibal Lecter_.” He extended a hand, knowing it would invoke an awkward balancing act of the heavy artillery he was carrying. It did, of course, and though Gareth tried to balance the rifle in one hand, he wasn’t properly anticipating it and dropped it to the ground with a clamor.

"Whoa, there, G," Casey teased.

Gareth jutted out his hand, side-eyeing his friend. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbled, annoyed, as Hannibal cast him an inappropriately impressed look at the fallen weapon. The young man took a knee and gathered it up, but chose to prop its length against the wall instead of carrying it around.

Casey defrosted bags of the nondescript, lumpy food. As it warmed, the familiar appearance of meat and vegetables formed a stew of sorts, the smells tickling against Hannibal’s senses. Though he turned his nose up at the meal initially, he soon found himself offering to cut fresh cilantro, and even found whole nutmegs to grind, fresh and sweetly fragrant, into the meal.

“A trick my aunt taught me,” Hannibal said, responding to the questioning eyebrow Casey tossed at him as he raked the grate against the nutmegs. He seemed appeased, and took a spoon to the stirring meal, tasting their creation.

“Not bad, Doc,” he said, giving him and impressed grin and a thumbs up. Hannibal smiled politely, truly grateful for the distraction.

“Balances the bitter aftertaste of the _coriander_ ,” Hannibal said, scrunching his nose, indicating his slight disapproval, but it gave way to a smile, since he was, after all, in his element.

It occurred to him that Abigail and Gareth had been chatting while he was assisting with dinner, and now that he offered them his full attention, he noticed the wide, brimming eyes she used to listen as he spoke, hanging on his every word. Hannibal curled his lip at the thought, though no one else noticed. He prepared a bowl for her, and was all too happy to interrupt their unquestionably fascinating conversation with his presentation, but after testing the temperature, Abigail decided to let her bowl sit on the counter to cool.

He portioned a large serving into a bowl for Will, fastidiously fixing it on the center of a plate, lined it with a plain, paper napkin, ensuring that the spoon was perfectly aligned on the right-hand side. After the final tweaking, Hannibal placed the dish between his hands and carried it to the dining room, intending to fetch Will from outside. Abigail trailed behind him, having decided to tag along while Casey and Gareth ate their meals in the kitchen.

She came to an abrupt stop when she noticed Hannibal dead in his tracks, laser-focused on the scene in front of him. She traced his line of sight just in time to see Marta’s lips pulling away from Will’s. Her wide eyes grew big and she made an exaggeratedly confused face.

Hannibal swallowed hard and the vein in his neck bulged for a brief moment, his discontent radiating like a rancid stench. Abigail suddenly felt the need to be very still, simply observing Hannibal and trying to disappear into the background. He finally exhaled, somewhat uneventfully, and circled round the dining room, placing the dish on the dining room table. Without speaking or even looking at Abigail, he spun on his heels and made toward the front door, walking out the front.

She remained staring at the door, slightly puzzled, as if she expected Hannibal to come right back. Instead it was Will who entered, startling her into a jump, as he walked in from the back, shoulders and head hunched over. The posture made him seem smaller than normal. He greeted Abigail with a nod, but cocked his head sideways inquisitively at her jumpiness.

“Hey,” he said, “what’s _wrong_?”

She snapped out of her head just a little too quickly. “ _What_? Nothing.” she said, shrugging it off (unconvincingly). “Nothing’s wrong.” She smiled stiffly, dropping her eyes from Will’s, and suspicion washed over him.

He looked past her, stretching his neck so that he could see into the living room, and noticed Hannibal’s empty spot on the couch, the plush blanket Will had thrown to him earlier now bunched in his stead.

“Where’s Hannibal?” he asked, drawing out each letter in his name, searching around the open area for signs of the psychiatrist. He could hear Casey and Gareth squabbling in the background, and he glanced toward the kitchen and saw both of them sitting at the countertop, eating and chatting, oblivious to everyone else.

Abigail looked up to Will with those round, innocent eyes. “Outside.”

The chili began to permeate his senses, as he detected the faint, prickling smell of spices, identifying a whiff of fresh cilantro, and something else, tangy and bitter, that stirred his growling stomach. Even so, a sick feeling weighted at the pit of his gut, rendering him nauseous and unable to savor the smell. He was _sure_ then that they’d seen him with Marta, and Will _hated_ it. The thought reddened his cheeks as he imagined Hannibal watching them outside. _Just what I need_ , he thought, _the fucking psychiatrist seeing THAT catastrophe._

Will grumbled inwardly as he imagined a hundred different ways that Hannibal would end up psychoanalyzing this goddamned scenario. _Fuck._ That is so fucking _not_ what he had intended to happen when he went outside with her.

“She kissed me,” he said weakly, unable to look at Abigail. He was beyond mortified to be talking about it with her, but it somehow seemed unavoidable.

“Okay,” she said, looking back at him, seemingly unsure of what else to say. “Where is she?” she finally asked, glancing outside as if she expected to see Marta nearby.

“She walked to _the pond_ ,” he answered, nervously ruffling his curls, scratching his head. “I, um, think she was embarrassed,” he said, making a mental note of the irony as his cheeks continued to flush. Abigail absently stirred at her bowl, nodding in understanding at his response, suppressing a smile that worked hard to break through.

“Did he…” Will started, getting hung up on his words, "Wait. _Is he mad?_ ” His eyes widened and he looked to Abigail, his brows furrowing with worry. She simply shrugged dismissively. _Why would he even be angry_? He wondered silently, frustrated. He figured somehow this all was disrespectful to Alana, and he chastised himself for even worrying about Marta or Hannibal. None of it mattered much in comparison.

“ _Sorry_ ,” Will said under his breath, suddenly self-conscious. He shook his head, cursing to himself, pacing around the dining room table.

Abigail looked up to him finally, meeting his eyes. “It’s okay,” she said gently, with a quick, sincere smile. “I’m not ... sure. He brought you a tray of food,” she said, gesturing to the other bowl on the table, “and stopped when he saw you. I just think he didn’t want to, um, interrupt.”

He winced and buried his face between his palms, groaning exaggeratedly. “I’ll _never_ hear the end of this,” he disparaged, words muffled from behind his fingers. Abigail giggled a little as she nibbled at her meal.

“Well,” she said between bites, “He did sort of nurse you back to health when you were sleeping, and kept watch like, _the whole time_.” She met his eyes with a playful, but not entirely kidding smirk. He cast her another pained expression. _Well, great, the general consensus is that I'm an asshole_ , he thought.

“I’m _just saying_ ,” she said slowly, choosing her words very carefully, “maybe he feels like you should have been keeping a better _look out_ while he was sleeping.”

Will was quiet as he considered her words, aware of the small truth behind them. But Hannibal wasn’t drugged like he and Abigail. Not really the same thing, he grumbled to himself. If anyone didn't need a lookout, it was Hannibal, after what Will had seen him do earlier to those men. He simply shrugged.  
  
“Or … _maybe_ he’s jealous,” Abigail said, voice small, brows slowly arching as a devious smile took form.

Will glared at her, unamused. “Ha, ha,” he said sarcastically. The ridiculous thought lapped around his thoughts for a brief moment, stirring a nagging pulse through his nerves. “Yeah _, right_ ,” he added with a scoff.

She grinned back at him and shrugged before returning her attention to her bowl. They heard the locks of the front door click and clack, and turned to see Hannibal gliding easily through the front. Abigail turned and headed to the kitchen to grab her bowl and join Casey and Gareth, seizing the opportunity for escape with pleasure.

Hannibal strode up to Will, carefree and appearing quite at ease. “Ah,” he said, sporting a particularly glowing blue-ribbon smile, “ _Hello_ , Will.”

Will searched him with an uneasy expression. “Hey …” he replied, as if not finishing his thought.

“Upon waking, I remembered I had forgotten to fetch your glasses,” he said, plainly, but with a lightness to him that was more than a little discomforting. He extended the black, wire-rimmed frames out in an open hand. “I’m sure you’ve been missing them.”

“Not really _, no_ ,” Will said, almost snapping, before snatching them out of his hand. He balanced the metal behind his ears, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the prescription.

“ _Thanks_ ,” Will said suspiciously, about a thousand times more sardonic than he’d intended it. Hannibal responded with widened eyes, making an indignant face with pursed lips in response to the scathing tone.

“Is there something bothering you, Will?” Hannibal asked innocently.

He continued before Will could think of an answer. “I’ve warmed you a plate, you should eat.” He nodded his head toward the lonely bowl on the dining room table.

“I must confess, I was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of succumbing to Casey’s culinary skills, but, despite an over-abundance of coriander, the dish was quite acceptable in flavor.” He smiled brilliantly, pleased with himself at the continued avoidance in conversation that caused Will to shift back and forth unpleasantly, almost ready to burst through his skin. Will stared at the floor, ears burning hot, dread looming over like a dark shadow.

“Okay, _stop it_ ,” Will said quietly, still staring at the floor.

Hannibal looked honestly perplexed. “Will, I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” he said, tone still damningly more enthusiastic than normal. “I simply wish for you not to waste away the opportunity for a meal after your body has been through such strain.”  
  
He smiled kindly at the younger man, only the slightest detectable hint of darkness glimmering behind his golden eyes.

Of course Hannibal would not make this easy. _He won’t admit he’s mad, he’ll just torture me into confession_. He grimaced while trying to sort through everything that raced through his mind, as Hannibal cocked his head to the side, cheerfully taking in his discomfort.

“ _I know … you saw me_ ,” Will said, tiny as a mouse, facing Hannibal in the dining room. The psychiatrist smiled contentedly.

“I see many things, dear Will,” he said, evaluating him up and down with judging eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be a bit more specific.” Hannibal stood with his arms crossed, watching Will with intense expectancy.

“ _Jesus_ , Hannibal,” Will grumbled, humiliation wilting his posture, “I know you’re mad that you saw me outside … with Marta.”

“Hmmm,” Hannibal said, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve little interest in who you decide to socialize with,” he said flippantly, narrowing his eyes at Will, who exhaled in frustration at the doctor’s enigmatic replies.

“Okay, then,” Will sighed out, fed up with the mental chess game taking place between the two of them. He hung his head and turned to leave.

“ _But_ …” Hannibal started, stopping to pause, patiently waiting for Will to refocus his attention. Will resentfully, but dutifully, turned back to face him.

“ _IF_ one were trying to ascertain a _certain_ level of _vigilance_ in the face of _supremely_ adversarial conditions, it might be rather disheartening to discover a lack of ... _reciprocation_ in the actions of those around you.” He turned his head up and looked away, now clearly displeased. Will couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at the convoluted dialogue, though he had grown oddly familiar with the doctor’s manner of speaking, and often times even enjoyed it. Now was definitely _not_ one of those times.

“We were talking about Alana, _she_ kissed _me –_ ”

“ _One could argue_ ,” Hannibal continued, haughtily cutting him off mid-sentence, “that allowing oneself to be put into a situation that could be misread as such is, in itself, a testament to the lack of _providence_ exhibited by the party in question.” He glanced briefly at Will as he said the words, but again looked away to the floor.

Will deliberated over the accusation. His natural inclination was to argue; Hannibal had not been medically unstable like he had been, and he seemed to be at no great risk while he slept on the couch. Reversing the situation, however, Will admitted, begrudgingly, that he had absolutely felt safer with Abigail’s knowledge that Hannibal had intently stood guard while he had rested, checking on him and silently patrolling the house.

He lifted his searching eyes up to Hannibal with a sigh. “ _Okay_ ,” Will conceded, miserably, and barely above a whisper.

Hannibal stared at him blankly, raising his brows. “Hmm?”

“It’s possible,” Will said under his breath, “that I acted without _reciprocating_ _vigilance._ ” He put air quotes around the doctor’s previous words as he spoke them. “But, to be fair, you were _undoubtedly_ safe, as was Abigail.” He raised his arms up, palms open, asking for at least that. “I mean, _Gareth_? _Come on_ ,” he said, with an alkaline smile that revealed just one side of his teeth.

Hannibal let a genuinely amused smile cross his face, snorting a single laugh. “But you can’t underestimate him,” he said, “Or anyone, really. Not _now_.”

He paced slow circles around the younger man.

“The problem with your assumptions, Will, is that you’re deriving behavioral calculations on knowledge that is now obsolete,” he said seriously, speaking to Will as if he were lecturing a class. “This disease has presented an entirely new set of variables into existence, and you cannot predict outcomes so easily, as you often have, even subconsciously.”

Will’s head teetered back and forth, thinking. Though he didn’t speak, after a minute or so of concentration, he nodded in slow, reluctant agreement. He stared away at the floor.

Ever since the hospital, he realized, the world had been filtered through a layer of hallucinogenic cellophane, allowing him to be blissfully unsure of what was happening in real life versus his imagination. With his fever gone and all the drugs quickly wearing off ( _and_ _how_ , he grumbled, grabbing his backside where it was throbbing), he had to accept what happened. And what is _that exactly_? he wondered. _Epidemic? Pandemic? Catastrophic biological warfare_? He’d been hiding behind his vulnerability, ignoring the cold, hard reality: _life as they knew it was over_.

“ _Audaces fortuna iuvat_ ,” Hannibal said, interrupting Will’s wandering train of thought. He blinked repeatedly as he refocused on Hannibal, repeating the words internally.

“ _Fortune favors the bold_?” Will said like a question, guessing at his correctness. He received his answer in the form of Hannibal’s brightening eyes, lighting up at the response, proud and pleased.

“Yes …Virgil,” he mused. “We cannot afford to let our guard down, Will." Hannibal gave him a firm, yet, oddly tender squeeze on his shoulder. Will smiled up at him, feeling somehow comforted by the gesture. Hannibal pulled away and resumed his steady pacing.

“Because, if _we_ are to survive this," he said poignantly, "We will need more than just _good fortune_.”

Will huffed a laugh under his breath, looking nowhere in particular.

Hannibal studied Will curiously, pulling his brows in as if overly offended. “I shall remember this moment, Will, the next time you chastise me for my inappropriately-timed sense of humor,” he said, straight faced, but with a hint of playfulness behind his voice.

“Sorry,” he said absently, thinking to himself. “Just Abigail, before you came back from getting my glasses, just before.” Hannibal studied him carefully with a slight smile. He nodded a confirmation that he was following along.

“She said you might actually be _jealous_ ,” Will said, laughing a little madly at the thought. Hannibal’s eyes crinkled and he joined Will’s laughter.

“A bright girl, Abigail,” Hannibal said, “Questions things because of an active imagination … like _you_ ,” he said, nodding to Will and taking him up and down, admiration glowing behind his eyes.

Will averted his eyes suddenly, breaking from Hannibal’s gaze, as he felt his cheeks flush. His chest throbbed and tightened unexpectedly, causing him to choke on an escaping cough, leading to an all-out coughing fit. Hannibal grabbed his bottle of water from its proper spot on the coaster and handed it to Will, who immediately chugged every last drop of liquid, crunching the bottle under his grip as he finished. “Thanks,” Will sighed out, quite pathetically, he thought.

“As I was saying,” Hannibal continued, “Her imagination is not so keenly developed as yours,” he said lightly. “Limited to tall tales and fabrications, I’m afraid.” He smiled, tilting his head back as if wanting to take in Will’s reaction.

Will leisurely nodded his head in understanding and said, “Settles that, then.” Hannibal gave a somewhat affirmative, noncommittal shrug.

“Well I guess I’m relieved,” he said, suddenly, and horribly, unable to stop himself from continuing, “that now I don’t have to _turn you down_.”

Will tried to smile but just winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He had no idea what the fuck he’d been trying to say, but it definitely wasn’t … _that_. _Oh God,_ he disparaged to himself _, were you trying to make a joke?_   The awkward tension stuck to Will's skin like bubblegum, thick and unrelenting, and he regretted there was no rock within his sight to crawl under. _  
_

Hannibal’s neck tensed and his eyebrows rose with humorless surprise. “Is that so,” he said like a statement, emotionless, while his thoughts almost visibly busied around inside his skull.

“Whichever misdirected conceit of your mind that is responsible for such concern need not worry, Will, as it’s been tremendously misguided in it’s estimation of me,” he quipped. He motioned a directing arm toward Will’s bowl of food as an afterthought.

Will hesitantly chewed on his lip for a brief moment, before Hannibal added, “Thanks … but _no thanks_ ,” coldly, offering a crooked half-smile to soften the blow.

“ _Ouch_ ,” Will said quietly, marveling at the fact that it really did sting in some strange, indescribable way that sent a shiver straight down his spine.

“I’ll try not to lose sleep over it,” he grumbled bitterly, and transparently defensive, as he sunk into a chair, stuffing mouthfuls of food into his mouth, fueled by the freshly remembered hunger that growled loudly in his belly.

As he leaned over Will, Hannibal gave him an affirming, if not unbrotherly, pat on the shoulder, like one would an employee they had just fired, causing him to flinch overdramatically and jolt away from the touch. Will hung his head and continued cramming his face, as it distracted from the utter mollification he was currently undergoing. _Idiot_ , his brain hissed, circulating the word like a mantra. _Why did he always have to be so goddamned weird_?  
  
After a few mouthfuls of venison, he looked up between bites and chuckled helplessly. _I didn’t mean to say that_ , Will practiced in his head. _It sounded funnier in my head. I’m sorry for being a huge prick just then._ Twenty different ways to apologize ran through his head.

“I can only hope _you_ don’t wake up at night to flashbacks of me trying to be _funny_ ,” is what he decided on, almost entirely successful at avoiding the apology. Still, he was relieved when a grin stretched across the older man’s lips.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, finally easing out a husky laugh. “Well, it is a truly terrifying occurrence, it seems."

A screechy, metallic creaking suddenly filled in from the windows, stealing the attention of everyone in the room. They were all dead silent.

 _Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeak._ A glorified version of a shopping cart with a persistent, rusted wheel.

It echoed eerily off the walls, dragging on.

_Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeak._

Will looked to Hannibal, knitted brows, revealing more worry than he'd intended. Casey stepped out from the kitchen. He eyed Hannibal, and then Will, panic spilling over from his wide eyes. “Someone’s at the gate,” he said with a contrived calmness to his voice, gulping hard.

Will inhaled sharply, looking to Hannibal and back to Casey. “Or some ... _thing_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up having to split a realllllly long chapter into two, so this is the first part. Second part will be up shortly.
> 
> Also - Will's dialogue ended up totally different than I'd imagined it. This happens a lot with him, and I'm thinking their relationship is going to develop in a completely different way than I'd originally intended. (Yay!)


End file.
